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THE HEAD GIRL 
AT THE GABLES 



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-- 


WHERE ‘KILMENY’ IS,” BEGGED LORRAINE 

Page 2oS 


U ' ■ ^ r l: _ ; - J 'f'f : 

^ 975 

“oh, do find out 


THE HEAD GIRL 
AT THE GABLES 


BY 

ANGELA BRAZIL 

M 

Illustrated by 'Balliol Salmon 



Ni:W YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



Copyright^ i()-0, by 
Krki)i:rick A, Stokks Company 


JU rights reserved 


i 


0CT I i 1920 - 

/• 7 


©CI,A597755 


Contents 


Chap. 

I. 

A Momentous Decision 





Page 

9 

11 . 

The First Day of Term - 





22 

HI. 

New Brooms 





35 

IV. 

Greets Claudia • 





48 

V. 

A Question of Discipline 





61 

VI. 

The Sea-nymphs' Grotto - 





75 

VII. 

Kilmeny ... - 





89 

VIII. 

Vivien makes Terms - 





lOI 

IX. 

White Elephants 





114 

X. 

A Sinister Incident - 





128 

XI. 

Madame Bertier - 





140 

XII. 

The Sensation Bureau 





*54 

XIII. 

Rosemary’s Secret - 





168 

XIV. 

Wh.at Happened at Easter 





181 

XV. 

An Academy Picture • 





196 

XVI, 

An Opportunity - 





211 

XVII. 

A Mid-term Beano 





223 

XVIII. 

An Adventure - 





235 

XIX. 

Morland on Leave - 





243 

XX. 

S.mugglers’ Cove 





250 

XXL 

Trouble .... 





266 

XXII. 

The Parting of the Ways 





280 


\ 


Illustrations 


Pasre * 

“Oh, do find out where ‘Kilmeny* is,” begged ^ 
Lorraine Frontispiece * 

Lorraine ‘ji ^ 

“Everything’s gone wrong!" declared Lorraine 
tragically 144 

“Claudia! How could you forget?" - - - 192 ^ 

% 

Claudia flung her Arms round Rosemary's Neck 

AND hugged her 2 l 6 

She stood up cautiously 240 



THE HEAD GIRL AT 
THE GABLES 


CHAPTER I 

A Momentous Decision 

It was exactly ten days before the opening of 
the autumn term at The Gables. The September 
sunshine, flooding through the window of the 
Principal’s study, lighted up the bowl of carna- 
tions upon the writing-table, and, flashed back from 
the Chippendale mirror on the wall, caught the 
book-case with the morocco-bound editions of the 
poets, showed up the etching of “Dante’s Dream” 
over the mantelpiece, and glowed on Miss Kings- 
ley’s ripply brown hair, turning all the silver 
threads in it to gold. Miss Kingsley, rested 
and refreshed after the long summer holiday, a 
touch of pink in her cheeks and a brightness in 
her eyes, left as a legacy from the breezes of the 
Cheviot Hills, was seated at her desk with a note- 
book in front of her and a fountain pen in her 
hand, making plans for a fresh year’s work. 


lo Head Girl at The Gables 

Miss Janet, armed with a stump of pencil and 
the back of an envelope, ready to jot down sugges- 
tions, swayed to and fro in the rocking-chair with 
her lips drawn into a bunch and the particular little 
pucker between her eyebrows that always came 
when she was trying to concentrate her thoughts. 

‘‘It really ts a difficulty, Janet!” said Miss 
Kingsley. “A suitable head girl makes all the 
difference to a school, and if we happen to choose 
the wrong one it may completely spoil the tone. 
If only Lottie Carson or Helen Stanley had stayed 
on ! Or even Enid Jones or Stella Hardy! ” 

“It’s hard luck to lose all our best senior girls 
at once!” agreed Miss Janet, biting her stump of 
pencil abstractedly. “ But if they’re gone, they’re 
gone.” 

“Of course!” Miss Kingsley’s tone savoured 
slightly of impatience. “And the urgent matter 
is to supply their places. It’s like making bricks 
without straw. Haven’t you any suggestions? I 
do wish you’d stop rocking, it worries me to hear 
your chair creak!” 

Miss Janet, seasoned by thirty-five years’ acquain- 
tance with her sister’s nervous temperament, rose 
and walked to the window, where she stood look- 
ing out over the sunlit tennis court to the bank 
of exotic shrubs that half hid the blue line of the 
sea. There was a moment’s pause, then she 
said: 

“Suppose you read over the list of ‘eligibles’, 
and we’ll discuss their points each in turn.” 

Miss Kingsley reached fora certain black-backed 


A Momentous Decision 


II 

shiny exercise-book and opened it. The entries 
were in her own neat hand. 

“There will only be eight girls in the Sixth 
Form this term,” she volunteered. “ Taking them 
in alphabetical order they are: Nellie Appleby, 
Claire Bardsley, Claudia Castleton, Vivien For- 
rester, Lorraine Forrester, Audrey Roberts, Dorothy 
Skipton, and Patricia Sullivan.” 

Miss Janet smiled. 

“ First of all you may cross off the last,” she 
suggested. 

“ Decidedly. Patsie Sullivan as head girl would 
be about as suitable as — as ” 

Miss Kingsley paused for an appropriate simile. 

“As making Charlie Chaplin Archbishop of 
Canterbury!” finished Miss Janet with a chuckle. 

“ It’s unthinkable ! Most of the others are soon 
weeded out too. Nellie Appleby and Claire Bards- 
ley — good stodgy girls, but quite unfit for leader- 
ship — Claudia Castleton, a new girl, so of course 
not eligible; Audrey Roberts — could you imagine 
silly little Audrey in any post of trust? It really 
only leaves us the choice between Lorraine For- 
rester, Vivien Forrester, and Dorothy Skipton.” 

“In last term’s exams these three were fairly 
equal,” commented Miss Janet. 

“So equal that I shan’t take the results of the 
exams into consideration. It must be a question 
of which girl will make the most efficient head. 
Each has her points and her drawbacks. Take 
Vivien, now: she’s smart and capable, and would 
revel in exercising authority.” 


12 


Head Girl at The Gables 

Too much so. I should be sorry for the school 
with anyone so domineering as Vivien Forrester 
at the head of affairs. She’s too forward alto- 
gether, and inclined to argue and pit her opinion 
against that of the mistresses. If she were singled 
out for special oflice, I believe she’d grow insuffer- 
able. Dorothy .Skipton, with all her faults, would 
be preferable to Vivien.” 

“And Dorothy has faults — very big ones too!” 
sighed Miss Kingsley. “I never can consider 
Dorothy to be absolutely straight and square. 
I’ve several times caught her cheating or copying, 
and she’s not above telling a fib if she’s in a tight 
place. She’s clever, undoubtedly, and decidedly 
popular, and in that lies the greatest danger, for 
a popular head girl whose moral attitude is not 
of the very highest might ruin the tone of the 
school in a single term. I’m afraid Dorothy is 
too risky an experiment.” 

“ Then that leaves only Lorraine Forrester?” 

“ Ye§ — Lorraine.” 

Both the sisters paused, with the same look of 
puzzled doubt on their faces. 

“ She’s a child I never seem to have got to know 
thoroughly,” said Miss Janet. “ I must say I’ve 
always found her perfectly square and a plodding 
worker. She has given very little trouble in class.” 

“Not so brilliant, perhaps, as Vivien, but, on 
the whole, more satisfactory,” commented Miss 
Kingsley. “ I agree with you that we have never 
really got to know Lorraine. vShe’s a very reserved 
girl, and hasn’t pushed herself forward, but there’s 


A Momentous Decision 


13 


great strength of character in her, in my 
opinion. Those big brown eyes look in earnest 
over anything she’s doing. She’s never made a 
bid for popularity, like Dorothy Skipton, but I’ve 
seen her coaching the younger ones at hockey and 
cricket. She’s inclined to go about in a dream, 
but I believe if she were placed in a post of 
authority she’d wake up. I really think we could 
depend on Lorraine. The first quality in a head 
girl is that she must be conscientious, and she 
certainly comes out top in that respect.” 

“If it were put to the general vote ” began 

Miss Janet, but her sister snapped her up. 

“ I don’t believe in allowing the girls a choice! 
The popular idol of the school isn’t always the one 
with the best influence. I’ve quite decided, Janet! 
Lorraine is far and away the most suitable among 
the new Sixth. I shall send fr r her the day before 
term opens and have a private talk with her. Un- 
less I’m very much mistaken in the girl, we shan’t 
be disappointed.” 

“I believe you are right!” agreed Miss Janet, 
sinking into the easy-chair and resuming her rock- 
ing, without further remonstrance from her now 
satisfied sister. 

Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet had kept school 
together at The Gables for the last twelve years. 
It was not a very large school, but then Porth- 
keverne was not a very large place — only a little 
quaint, old-fashioned seaside town, built down the 
sloping cliffs of a Cornish cove, with its back to 
the heather-clad moors and its face to the broad 


<4 


Head Girl at The Gables 


Atlantic. Whether you appreciated Porthkeverne 
or not was entirely a matter of temperament. 
Strangers, whose pleasure in a summer holiday 
depended on pier, esplanade, band, and cheap 
amusements, found it insufferably dull, and left for 
the more flaring gaieties of St. Jude’s or Trewen- 
lock Head. Porthkeverne was glad to get rid of 
them ; it did not cater for such as these. But there 
were others for whom the little town had a peculiar 
fascination ; its quaint, irregular houses and grey 
roofs, its narrow streets of steep steps, its archways 
with glimpses of the sea, its picturesque harbour 
and red-sailed fishing-boats, its exotic shrubs and 
early flowers, its yellow sands and great pinnacled 
crags, the softness of the west wind and the per- 
petual dull roll of the Atlantic breakers cast a spell 
over certain natures and compelled them to remain. 
Visitors would return to it again and again, and 
some of them, who were free to live where they 
chose, would take houses and settle down as resi- 
dents. Over literary and artistic people Porth- 
keverne seemed to exercise a special charm. 
Authors and artists had collected there, and, partly 
attracted by the place and partly by each other’s 
. society, had formed an intellectual colony that 
^centred round the Arts Club in the old Guildhall 
down by the harbour. 

Marine painters, and those who sought to im- 
mortalize peasant life on their canvases, found 
ample subjects among the crags and coves and 
sea -weed -covered rocks where the blue water 
lapped softly, or the white waves came foaming 


A Momentous Decision 


15 


and churning up; and the fisher-folk, bronzed, 
blue-eyed, and straight of limb, were models to 
set the heart of a Millet or a Wilkie on the thrill. 
To authors the quiet place, with its miles of moor- 
land lying inland from the cliffs, was a ripe field 
for literary work. Novelists worked out their plots 
undisturbed by the hooting of motor horns or the 
whizzing of tram-cars; scientific men, who had 
spent years of study over the treasures of the 
British Museum or Kew, came there to sort out 
their materials for books of reference, and to have 
leisure for making certain experiments; writers of 
travels reviewed their notes, and archaeologists 
scheduled the antiquities of the neighbourhood. 
To this literary and artistic brotherhood Porth- 
keverne offered the calm of the country combined 
with the mental stimulus of intellectual comrade- 
ship, and though, in the inevitable march of events, 
its individual members often changed, the colony 
remained and flourished, and sent forth work of a 
character that was of value to the world of art and 
letters. 

Miss Kingsley and her sister, Miss Janet, them- 
selves women of strong literary tastes, had come to 
the town with the rising tide of the Arts Settlement, 
and had established their school chiefly to meet the 
needs of the new colony. Most of their pupils were 
the children of painters and authors, though a few 
of the gentry and professional men of the district 
also took advantage of such a good local oppor- 
tunity to educate their daughters. The Gables 
was a pleasant old-fashioned white house, standing 


i6 Head Girl at The Gables 


on a narrow terrace of the cliff, with a high rock 
behind to screen it from the wind, and a view of 
grey roof-tops leading down to a peep of the har- 
bour. In the sheltered garden grew, according to 
their season, white arum lilies and rosy tamarisk, 
aloes and myrtle and oleander and other beau- 
tiful half-tropical shrubs, while geraniums, carna- 
tions and humbler flowers bloomed in profusion. 
There was a veranda covered with a wistaria, and 
most of the class-room windows were framed with 
sweet-smelling creepers. Long afterwards, when 
the pupils looked back to their time at The Gables, 
they would always connect certain lessons with the 
strong scent of honeysuckle, or the faint odour of 
tea roses, for the flowers seemed just as much a 
part of the general culture of the school as were 
the Botticelli pictures on the library walls, or the 
weekly recitals of modern music. 

This garden, Miss Kingsley’s fetish and the joy 
of Miss Janet’s heart, was blooming its best on the 
particular September afternoon when the autumn 
term began. Soon after two o’clock its green lawn 
and shady paths began to fill up with girls. They 
came at first in twos and threes, and then in larger 
numbers till the place seemed full of them. There 
were only about forty altogether, but it was seven 
weeks since most of them had met one another, 
and the babel of tongues that ensued would have 
suggested a hundred children at the least. Six 
long-legged juniors occupied the garden-seat, with 
as many more hanging over the back; a dozen of 
the smaller fry squatted on the grass, some frivolous 

( C 976 ) 


A Momentous Decision 


'7 


intermediates cackled over jokes in the corner by 
the bay tree, and a few enterprising spirits had 
mounted the wall to watch for new-comers. 

Here’s Aileen !” 

“ And Grace!” 

“ With her little sister!” 

“And Eflie after all, though she wasn’t sure she’d 
be back in time!” 

“ Good old Effie! I’m glad she’s come!” 

“ Where’s Marcia, by the by?” 

“ Gone to the High School at St. Jude’s.” 

“ Poor wretch, I’m sorrj' for her! What a traipse 
to go by train every morning! Why, here’s Doreen, 
and she’s cut her hair short! Oh, I say! Doreen, 
bid sport, I hardly knew you! What a kid you 
look!” 

Doreen shook back her shock of crisp brown 
hair, conscious of the pleasing fact that it curled 
at the ends. 

“Kid, indeed!” she replied, with an indignant 
thrill in her voice. “I was thirteen last week!” 

“Shouldn’t have thought 4t,” twittered Enid. 
“ I was just going to suggest a pair of socks and 
ankle-band shoes. There’s a new teacher for the 
kindergarten, if that interests you. There, don’t 
get raggy! Perhaps you’ll find yourself in the 
Sixth after all!” 

“ No, thank you ! I’ve no yearnings to be in the 
Oxford Room. I suppose we shall all be going up 
a form, though? Who are the monitresses this 
year? Have you heard?” 

Enid slipped down from her post on the wall, 

(C 976) 2 


i8 Head Girl at The Gables 


and locking her arm in Doreen’s strolled with 
her towards the house. 

“Not a word,” she replied. “Until the Great 
Panjandrum reads out the lists we’re utterly and 
entirely in the dark. Of course, most of those 
who were in the Fifth last year will have gone 
up into the Sixth, except, perhaps, Beryl Wood- 
house and Moira Stanning, but I’ve been talking 
it over with Vera and Pansy, and they both agree 
it’s an absolute toss-up who’s to be head girl.” 

“Why, how extraordinary! I should have said 
there* wasn’t any doubt about it. There’s only one 
girl who’s in the least likely.” 

“ Which one?” 

“Vivien, of course!” 

Enid pulled an eloquent face. 

“It’s not ‘of course’. I, for one, heartily hope 
she won't get it. Vivien Forrester, as she is, is 
quite bad enough, but Vivien Forrester as head 
of the school would be the absolute limit.” 

“She’ll be chosen all the same, you’ll see. There 
really isn’t anybody else. When Lily Anderson 
left last term, she certainly thought Vivien was 
going to be her successor. She showed her how 
to keep all the books of the Clubs and Guilds, 
so that she could slide into the work easily. And 
Vivien’s such a sport at hockey, too!” 

“ Um ! I don’t know. She has such a jolly good 
opinion of her own cleverness, but the question is 
whether Miss Kingsley exactly shares it or not. 
Hello! Hold me up! Here comes the Duchess 
herself, as large as life!” 


A Momentous Decision 


'9 


The girl who advanced briskly from the rhodo- 
dendron walk would have been good looking, but 
she was spoilt by a rather rabbity mouth and large 
teeth. Her complexion was clear, her brown eyes 
were bright, and her auburn hair was abundant. 
She held herself with the confidence of one who 
has so far found life an unqualified success. In 
her wake followed a little train of courtiers: Sybil 
Snow, Nellie Appleby, Mona Parker, Phoebe Gib- 
son, and Adelaide Brookfield, all eager sycophants 
craving her favour, and doing their utmost to in- 
gratiate themselves. 

“ I tell you I can’t promise anything!” Vivien 
was saying. “ Naturally the head of the school 
has the power to appoint any secretaries she likes, 
but it’ll be time enough to decide these things 
afterwards. I wish you wouldn’t bother me so! 
There’ll be a proper Committee meeting on Friday 
to arrange the Societies, and you must just wait 
till then.” 

‘‘But if anybody speaks to you about it in the 
meantime, you’ll remember it’s the Dramatic I’m 
keenest on?” urged Phoebe plaintively. 

“ I tell you again, I can’t promise — but — well, 
I’ll do my best for you, at any rate.” 

“What’s this about the Dramatic?” broke in 
Dorothy Skipton, who, arm in arm with Patsie 
Sullivan, had joined the group. “Do you mean 
to say you’re arranging the .Societies beforehand? 
Really, Vivien Forrester, of all cool cheek I call 
this the very limit! Who said you were going 
to be head girl, I should like to know?” 


20 


Head Girl at The Gables 

Two red spots flared into Vivien’s cheeks 

“Nobody said so!” she retorted. “Certainly 
/ didn’t, though I dare say IVe as good a chance 
as anybody else. I don’t see why you need catch 
me up like this.” 

“ Little bit tall to be promising posts till you’re 
certain you’re top dog!” laughed Patsie. “Old 
Dorothy may be the lucker instead of you. Me? 
Rather not! I can hardly flatter myself after my 
career last term that I’d be chosen as pattern pupil 
and pitchforked into the post of honour to set a 
good example to the rest of the school. Do I 
look the part, now?” 

The others, surveying Patsie’s humorous face 
and twinkling grey eyes, broke into a universal 
chuckle. 

“Well, it’s fiardly your line, exactly!” admitted 
Vivien. “ Why, if you confiscated surreptitious 
sweets from the kids, you’d probably eat them 
before their indignant faces, and give them a tip 
on how to hide them more carefully in future. I 
know you!” 

“Joking apart, though, ’’said Dorothy, “I suppose 
somebody’ll be made head of this school. Hasn’t 
anyone got the least inkling or hint? Lorraine! 
Lorraine Forrester, come here! We’re talking 
about who’s to be head girl. It’s a burning ques- 
tion, isn’t it? Do you know anything?” 

The schoolmate addressed as Lorraine closed 
with a slam the book she was reading, and ad- 
vanced somewhat unwillingly. She was a slim, 
pretty girl of sixteen, with the general effect of an 


A Momentous Decision 


21 


autumn woodland. Everything about her seemed 
golden brown; her hazel eyes, her creamy com- 
plexion, the sunny glint in her rich, dark hair 
were emphasized by the brown dress she was 
wearing and the orange carnations pinned in her 
belt. At the first glance there was a certain like- 
ness to Vivien, for the girls were cousins, yet 
everything about Lorraine seemed of a slightly 
superior quality, as if she had been turned out 
of a finer mould. She flushed as she evaded 
Dorothy’s question. 

“ I suppose we shall all know when Miss Kings- 
ley tells us,” she answered. 

“We’d be duffers if we didn’t I” mocked Patsie. 
“In my opinion Dorothy’ll have an uncommonly 
good innings, and I’m getting ready to congratulate 
her.” 

“ No, no! It’ll be Vivien!” declared Mona. 

“Yes, Vivien!” agreed Sybil and Phoebe to- 
gether. 

But at that moment the loud clanging of the 
bell put a stop to the conversation, and the girls 
turned in a body, and hurried into the house. 


CHAPTER II 


The First Day of Term 

It was an old-established custom at The Gables 
that the autumn term should begin on a Tuesday 
afternoon. There were no lessons: the girls simply 
gathered together in the gymnasium to listen to a 
short address from Miss Kingsley, to be told in 
what forms they were placed for the coming school 
year, and to be given new text-books, with passages 
to prepare for the morrow, when serious work would 
begin at nine o’clock, and the wheels of school life 
would start to turn in real earnest. This first after- 
noon was regarded by most as somewhat in the 
nature of a festival. It was pleasant to meet again 
and compare notes about the holidays; the general 
change of forms lent an element of excitement, even 
the new books were more or less interesting, and 
many minor details gave variety to the occasion. 

The gymnasium, whither all the girls were scutt- 
ling, was a moderate-sized wooden building that 
had been erected, in pre-war days, at the side of 
the house. It served for many purposes, and was 
alternately drill-hall, concert-room, play-room, lec- 
ture-hall, art gallery or ball-room as the case might 
be. This afternoon, with a fresh coat of pink dis- 
temper, a big bowl of flowers upon the table, and 


23 


The First Day of Term 

the sunshine coming through the skylight roof and 
shining on the nicely-polished floor and rows of 
varnished forms, it looked both business-like and 
attractive. The girls trooped in and took their 
seats. There were a few elder ones, but the 
majority were between eight and fourteen, with 
perhaps half a dozen kindergarten children on 
the front bench. Miss Turner, standing near the 
piano, controlled any excess of conversation, and 
reduced it to a subdued murmur. As Miss Kings- 
ley, brisk, smiling, and with a “ Now we’ll get to 
work!” air about her, mounted the platform and 
stood to review her school, forty-two pupils rose 
to their feet, and eighty-four eyes were fixed obe- 
diently upon her face. She focused their attention 
for a moment, then nodding to Miss Paget, who 
was seated at the piano, she announced: 

“We will begin the new term as usual by singing 
the National Anthem.” 

Miss Paget struck a few chords, and then the 
familiar strains of “God Save the King” rang 
through the room. It made a good commence- 
ment, for new girls and even the kindergarten 
babies could sing it, and thus take their part at 
once with the school. Forty-two voices, some 
fresh and clear, and some more or less out of 
tune, joined heartily in the anthem, and the girls 
sat down with the consciousness of having made 
a united effort. Following her precedent of twelve 
years. Miss Kingsley had something to say to her 
pupils before she made the ordinary announcements 
of school arrangements. 


24 


Head Girl at The Gables 

“It’s always nice to feel we’re making a fresh 
start!” she began cheerfully. “This is a new 
school year, and I want you all to join in helping 
to make it the best we’ve ever had. If there are 
any girls here who haven’t done well before, now 
is the time for them to turn over a new leaf and 
show us that they can work. At this crisis in the 
world’s affairs we don’t want to bring up ‘slackers*. 
Your fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins have an- 
swered their country’s call and gone to defend 
Britain’s honour, and you have been proud to 
see them go. The women of the Empire have 
played their part as nobly as the men, and it is 
these brave and splendid women whom you must 
try to imitate. Do you think they would have been 
able to give the help they have given to their country 
unless they had prepared their characters for it be- 
forehand? I’m sure not. It’s in the classroom that 
we train ourselves for what we may do afterwards. 
Every girl who tries her best in the little world 
-of school is learning her part for the big world 
afterwards. We hope it is going to be a beautiful 
world when the war is over, but it can only be so 
if we remember the sacrifices that have been made, 
and determine to be worthy of those who gave up 
everything for us. ‘ A nation never rises higher 
than its women.* So you, who are going to 
be some of its women, must see to it that you 
raise and not lower the standard. It’s a happy, 
hopeful thought to feel that you’re helping to 
push the world on; and how splendid if we can 
think that The Gables is a centre from which real 


25 


The First Day of Term 

helpfulness may radiate! Let us all join in trying 
to make it so. I’m going to tell you now about 
some things we shall be busy with this term, and 
I hope you will throw all your energies into them, 
and try your utmost to make them a success.” 

Miss Kingsley passed in rapid review the general 
scheme of work for the term for both seniors and 
juniors. It was a full programme, and included 
a wide range of subjects, from lectures on Greek 
antiquities to Swedish drill and rhythmic dancing. 
She was modern in her methods, and wished to 
cultivate every side of a child’s nature till she was 
old enough to choose her own speciality. Lists 
of the various forms followed, and then Miss Kings- 
ley turned to what, in the estimation of some of the 
girls at least, was the most important announce- 
ment of the afternoon. 

“All members of the Sixth are appointed moni- 
tresses, and Lorraine Forrester is head of the 
school.” 

A wave of excitement surged instantly through 
the room. Lorraine! They had not in the least 
expected her to be chosen. So far she had seemed 
a rather retiring sort of girl who had not taken a 
very active part in school affairs. Last term, when 
war waged hot and strong between Lottie Carson 
and Helen Stanley, two of the monitresses, Lor- 
raine had committed herself to neither party, 
though her form was divided to such an extent 
of partisanship that Dorothy Skipton and Vivien 
Forrester nearly had a fight one day on the land- 
ing. Lorraine! The matter required thought. 


26 Head Girl at The Gables 

The school was so surprised that it could not 
decide how to take the announcement, and it was 
with a look of uncertainty on their faces that the 
girls, dismissed at last by Miss Kingsley, filed 
into their classrooms to receive their new books 
and be told their preparation for next day. This 
necessary business finished, they were free to don 
hats and coats and go home. In the cloak-room 
the pent-up conversation bubbled over. 

“Well, what d’you think of it?” exploded 
Dorothy. 

Patsie, sitting on the boot-rack, pulling on her 
shoes, made a round mouth and whistled. 

“ It’s generally the unexpected that happens,” 
she moralized. “Lorraine’s a lucker! Cheer up, 
old Dollie! Don’t look so glum! Bother! I’ve 
broken my shoe-lace. What a grizzly nuisance! 
Lorraine’s not such a bad sort, after all!” 

“I don’t say she is — but to be head of the 
school!” 

“Better than Vivien, anyway!” grunted Patsie, 
busy knotting her broken shoe-lace. 

“I agree with you there — she'd have turned the 
place upside down. Here she comes, in a tan- 
trum by the look of her.” 

Vivien, judging by the way she slammed down 
her new books, was certainly not pleased with the 
turn affairs had taken. Though she and Dorothy 
were generally on terms of flint and steel, she 
sought her now to air what she considered a 
common grievance. 

“I couldn’t have believed it of Miss Kingsley!” 


27 


The First Day of Term 

she began. “Why Lorraine, of all people in the 
world? She’s two months younger than I am, 
and her marks weren’t as good as yours in the 
exam, if it hadn’t been for that absurd essay that 
counted extra. How she’s ever going to manage 
to run the societies, I can’t imagine! I’m sorry 
for the school!” 

Dorothy was adjusting her attractive hat in front 
of the mirror. She put in the pins carefully before 
replying. 

“ It’s a rotten business!” she sighed. 

“Disgusting! To have Lorraine set over us, 
while you and I are just ordinary common moni-* 
tresses, the same as Audrey Roberts or Nellie 
Appleby. I’m fed up with it! It’s going to be 
a hateful term ; I shan’t take an interest in any- 
thing! I wish I’d asked Father to send me to a 
boarding-school. I’m sick of The Gables!” 

Patsie, whose shoe-lace was now triumphantly 
mended, chuckled softly. 

“Poor old Gables!” she remarked. “I don’t 
know that you’d find a ‘better hole’ so easily. 
It’s a very decent kind of school. / intend to have 
some fun here this term, if you don’t. When’s 
that rhythmic dancing that Kingie talked about 
going to begin? I saw some in London, and I’m 
just wild to do it. This is how it goes!” 

And Patsie, flinging out her arms and swaying 
from side to side, made a series of most extra- 
ordinary gyrations. Vivien and Dorothy burst out 
laughing. 

“ If thafs what you call rhythmic dancing, give 


28 Head Girl at The Gables 


me the good old-fashioned sort!” hinnied Vivien. 
‘‘You look about as graceful as an elephant!” 

“And as jerky as a wound-up waxwork!” de- 
clared Dorothy uncomplimentarily. 

“Well, of course, the movements are done to 
music; they look quite different when you’ve got 
a sort of classic Greek dress on, and somebody’s 
playing a study by Chaminade or Debussy.” 

“ It would need very good music indeed to make 
those antics look anything! I fancy you’ll shine 
more at hockey, Patsie. I wonder what’s going 
to happen to the team. I can’t fancy Lorraine 
taking Lily Anderson’s place. It’ll be a let-down 
all round this term with Lorraine ” 

“Sh, ’sh! Here’s Lorraine herself!” 

“Then I’m off ! Come along, Dorothy!” 

Vivien rammed her hat on anyhow, seized her 
pile of new books, and bolted from ^the cloak-room 
almost as her cousin entered. Patsie, following 
more leisurely, stopped en route to give the new 
head girl a hearty smack on the back. 

“Cheero, Lorraine!” she remarked. “Just at 
the moment you look like Atlas shouldering the 
heavens. Haven’t you got over the shock of the 
announcement yet? Did Kingie spring it on you 
all at once? Or had she prepared you beforehand 
for your laurels?” 

“As a matter of fact, she sent for me yesterday 
and told me,” smiled Lorraine. 

“And I suppose, like Julius Caesar, you waved 
away the crown? Or was it Oliver Cromwell, by 
the by? My history’s always shaky!” 


The First Day of Term 29 

‘‘Well, I felt inclined to have a few dozen fits, 
certainly!” 

“ I don’t say it’s exactly a cushy post, but you’re 
a lucker all the same! Old Dolly and the Duchess 
would have liked to butt in, I can tell you. They’re 
absolutely green, the pair of them!” 

Lorraine’s face clouded. 

“ I was afraid Vivien would be disappointed. 
She thought — and so did I — indeed everybody 
thought ” 

“Then they thought wrong, and a good thing 
too!” pronounced Patsie. “Take my advice, Lor- 
raine, and don’t stand any nonsense with Vivien. 
Kingie’s the right to make anybody head girl 
she wants, and I’m glad she’s chosen you. If the 
Duchess and old DolHe can’t lose in a sporting 
way, they’re blighters. You hold your own, and 
I’ll back you up. You’ll have most of the school 
on your side. Ta-ta, and cheer up, old sport!” 

Patsie, jolly, good-natured and slangy, swung 
oiit of the cloak-room with what she called a 
“khaki stride”. Lorraine looked after her and 
laughed. No one took Patsie seriously, but it 
v/as pleasant to feel that she was an ally, even 
though she might not prove a very stout prop 
to lean upon. That she would need all available 
help in her new task, Lorraine was well aware. 
It would be difficult to follow in the footsteps of 
so capable and energetic a head girl as Lily Ander- 
son; the irrepressible intermediates were likely to 
prove a handful, and in the ranks of the Sixth 
itself she foresaw trouble brewing. It was . a 


30 Head Girl at The Gables 

decidedly thoughtful Lorraine who walked down the 
school garden, out through the gate, and along 
the cliff road that led to the western portion of 
the town. She had reached the wall below the 
windmill when Monica, her eleven-year old sister, 
came panting after her. 

“Lorraine! Do wait! Why did you go off 
without me? I hunted for you everywhere, till 
Ida James told me you’d gone. What a blighter 
you are to leave me!” 

“Sorry, Cuckoo! But you see I thought you'd 
gone, so there we are!” said Lorraine, smiling 
indulgently at the impetuous little figure that over- 
took her and seized her arm. “ I’d have waited if 
I’d known.” 

“I forgive you!” accorded Monica graciously. 
“Only to-day of all days, of course I wanted to 
walk home with you. D’you know, Tibbiekins, 
I’m proud of you! Aren’t you bucked? Well, 
you ought to be. I never got such a surprise in 
my life as when ‘ Lorraine Forrester’ was read out 
‘head of the school’! Betty Farmer pinched me 
so hard that I nearly yelled. But I say, Tibbie, 
it’s a stunt! Didn’t you get nerve shock when 
you heard your name?” 

“ I knew yesterday what was coming,” admitted 
Lorraine. 

“ Was that why you went to see Miss Kingsley? 
And you never told me a word! Well, I think you 
are the limit!” 

“ Miss Kingsley made me promise on my honour 
not to tell a single soul.” 


31 


The First Day of Term 

** I couldn’t have helped telling. Think of 
having that secret all the evening, and not giving 
me the least teeny weeny atom of a hint, even! 
I wonder you could keep it in! The girls are 
pleased — most of them. Betty says you’re a sport, 
and Mabel King says she feels she’s going to 
worship you, and Nora Hyland said I was a kicker 
to have you for a sister. Of course a few of them 
had plumped for Vivien, and let off steam, but 
they’ll soon get over it. Vivien looked like a 
thunder cloud. She won’t forgive you in a hurry ! 
You may look out for squalls in her quarter. 
Hallo, here’s Rosemary come to meet us. I must 
tell her the news. She knows already? Why, 
you said it was a secret! Well, you are mean to 
have told Rosemary and not me\ I’m not friends 
with you any more, so there!” 

Lorraine answered her sweet-faced elder sister’s 
look of enquiry with a nod of comprehension. 

“Yes, it’s all un fait accomplif she replied, 
“and on the whole I think the school has borne 
it beautifully. Come along, Cuckoo, don’t pout! 
Rosemary must have some secrets I can’t tell to 
the family baby. Remember, you score in other 
ways. It’s luck to be born youngest.” 

The three girls turned in at a gate and walked 
up a flower-bordered drive to a comfortable ivy- 
covered house. “ Pendlehurst” was a modern 
house, and in Lorraine’s opinion not at all ro- 
mantic, but, with the exception of herself, the For- 
rester family was not particularly given to romance. 
Her father, in choosing a residence, had paid more 


32 


Head Girl at The Gables 

attention to drains, number of bedrooms and hot- 
water facilities than to artistic beauty or aesthetic 
associations. He was a practical man w'ith a bent 
towards mathematics, and counted the cubic space 
necessary for the requirements of seven children 
to be the matter of most importance. He had an 
old-established practice as a solicitor in the town, 
and had lived all his life at Porthkeverne. Of the 
large family of children only the three youngest 
remained at home. Richard and Donald were at 
the front, in the thick of the fighting; Rodney was 
in training for the Air Force, while Rosemary, 
anxious also to flutter from the nest and try her 
wings in the world, was to go to London to study 
singing at a College of Music. Her term began 
a little later than Lorraine’s, so the two girls had 
still a few days left to spend together. They ran 
upstairs now to their joint bedroom, where packing 
was in progress. A big box stood under the 
w’indow with a bottom layer of harmony-books 
and music tightly arranged. To Rosemary it 
meant the fulfilment of a long-cherished dream. 
As she looked at it, her imagination skipped three 
or four years and showed her a golden vision of 
herself — in a pale pink satin dress with a pearl 
necklace — standing on a concert platform and bow- 
ing repeatedly to the storm of applause which had 
greeted her song. 

“ I can’t tell you how hard I’m going to work,” 
she confided. “ I shall just practise and practise 
and practise. I know that wretched theory will 
rather stump me, but I’ll wrestle with it. There’ll 


The First Day of Term 33 

be such a musical atmosphere about the place, it 
can’t help inspiring one.” 

“The hostel will be fun, too,” said Lorraine, 
going down on her knees to inspect the dainty 
afternoon tea service that was being rolled up for 
safety in soft articles of clothing. “ I can just 
picture you in your room, making a cup of cocoa 
before you go to bed.” 

“And having in a few friends. It’ll be the time of 
my life! 1 always wanted to go to boarding school, 
but this will be even better, because in a way I shall 
be my own mistress. I never thought I’d work Dad 
round to it. I’ve been in a sort of quiver ever since 
he said ‘yes’. Who’s there?” (as a loud series of 
rappings resounded on the door). “Oh, I can’t 
have )^ou children in here just now! Go away!” 

“We must come in!” urged Monica, following 
up her words by a forcible entrance. “There! 
there! Don’t get excited! You’ll welcome us when 
you know what we’ve come for! Chips and I have 
brought you a present. We thought you’d like to 
pack it now.” 

Mervyn, otherwise “Chips”, an overgrown bo}^ 
of thirteen, was embracing a large parcel, which 
he plumped on the floor and unfolded. It con- 
tained a fretwork basket, stained brown and still 
rather sticky with varnish. The corners fitted 
indifferently, and the handle was slightly askew. 

“We’ve made it between us!” said Mervyn 
proudly. “It’ll either do for a work-basket, or 
you could plant ferns in it and have it in your 
window.” 

( C 975 ) 


3 


34 


Head Girl at The Gables 


** You didn’t guess the least little atom what we 
were doing, did you?” asked Monica anxiously. 

“ Not a scrap I” said Rosemary, gallantly accept- 
ing the embarrassing offering with the enthusiasm 
it demanded. “You’re dears to have made it for 
me. I can keep all sorts of things in it: cocoa and 
condensed milk, and bits of string, and everything 
I’m likely to lose. Thanks ever sol Isn’t it a 
little sticky to pack yet?” 

“Not mryV^ said Mervyn, applying a finger as 
practical demonstration; “I’m glad you like it. 
It’s our first really big bit of work with those fret 
saws. Now, Cuckoo, if you want to come, there’ll 
be just time to develop those films before tea.” 

When the children had gone, Rosemary lifted 
up the rather crooked basket, looked at it critically, 
and laughed. 

“I’m sure it was a labour of love,” she com- 
mented. “Of course, I shall have to take it with 
me, though it will be a nuisance to pack. And 
they’re so proud of it! I hope my own first 
efforts at the College of Music won’t be considered 
equally crude by the authorities!” 

“Or mine at The Gables! We’re each starting 
on new lines this term. What heaps and loads we * 
shall have to talk about at Christmas!” 


CHAPTER III 

New Brooms 

A week later, Rosemary, trailing clouds of glory 
in the family estimation, departed for the classic 
precincts of the College of Music, and Lorraine, 
left behind, shook off the atmosphere of detach- 
ment which always pervades an exodus, and fo- 
cused her full mind and energies upon The Gables. 
It was no light thing to be chosen as head girl. 
Miss Kingsley, in that private talk in the study, 
had urged the responsibility as well as the honour 
of the office. Lorraine did not mean to disappoint 
her if she could help it. She set to work at once 
to wrestle with the problem of an autumn pro- 
gramme for the school. In virtue of her office 
she was president of all the various existing guilds 
and societies, and had the power to enlarge, curtail, 
or reorganize at her discretion. Although in a 
sense she was supreme referee, she had no desire 
to ride rough-shod over the general wishes, so, as 
a preliminary to any proposed changes, she called 
a monitresses’ meeting. 

The seven girls who, with herself, made up the 
Sixth Form, assembled in the class-room after 
school, interested and, on the whole, ready for 

35 


36 Head Girl at The Gables 

business. Audrey, to be sure, was giggling as 
usual. Patsie was pulling an absurd face of 
mock dignity, but Nellie and Claire were pleased 
with their new importance. Vivien, rather sulky, 
though submitting perforce to play second fiddle, 
had patched up a temporary truce with Dorothy, 
and the pair settled side by side. Claudia, the 
fresh addition to the form, strolled in late and 
sat crocheting while the others talked. Lorraine, 
her lap full of minutes books, bristled with ideas. 

Lily Anderson, the former head girl, had been 
energetic and enterprising to an extent that was 
really worthy of a wider sphere. Her standard 
had soared so high that the school had been quite 
unable to live up to it. In her excess of zeal she 
had founded too many societies, and with such strict 
and arduous rules that they would have tried the 
spirit of a candidate for initiation into some mystic 
Brotherhood. Urged on by her enthusiasm, the 
members had made a desperate first spurt, and 
then had slacked lamentably. The records of 
their brief successes and subsequent fallings-off 
were chronicled in certain marbled-cover exercise- 
books. Lorraine, fresh from a perusal of these 
annals, began the meeting with a drastic sugges- 
tion. 

‘‘As things stand at present,” she said, “the 
school seems over-weighted with societies. This 
is an exact list^of them: ‘The Research Society’, 
‘The Poker-work Guild’, ‘The Debating Society’, 
‘The Sketching Club’, ‘The Stamp Collectors’ 
Union’, ‘The Post Card Guild’, ‘The Home 


New Brooms 


37 


Reading Circle’, ‘The Jack Tar Club’, ‘The En- 
tertainments Guild’, ‘The Musical Union’, ‘The 
Hockey Club’, ‘The Cricket Club’, ‘The Tennis 
Club’, ‘The Badminton Club’, ‘The Basket-ball 
Club ’, ‘ The Natural History League ’, ‘ The Elo- 
cution Guild ’, ‘ The- Needlecraft Society’, and ‘ The 
Home Arts Guild 

“Nineteen in all!” commented Patsie, who had 
been checking off the items on her fingers. 

“ Rather stiff for a school of forty girls!” nodded 
Dorothy sagely. 

“There are far too many to keep up properly,” 
urged Lorraine. “ Every hobby we’ve ever had 
has been turned into a society. If we’d had no 
lessons to do, we could scarcely have managed 
them all, but when they must come out of our 
spare time it gets quite a tax. I think we mustn’t 
be quite so ambitious this year. Suppose we let 
some of them drop, and concentrate on just a few.” 

“I’m your man!” agreed Patsie. “I always 
thought such heaps of societies were a grizzly 
nuisance. It got the limit when two or three girls 
couldn^t even compare post cards without being 
turned into a guild. Those kids in the Second 
Form actually had a society for collecting stumps 
of lead pencil, and used to steal them shamelessly 
from any boxes that were left about in the gym. 
The ‘guild habit’ has grown into a perfect mania 
with the school.” 

“Best whittle them down,” said Vivien, who 
had herself suffered at the hands of the too en- 
thusiastic Lily Anderson. 


38 Head Girl at The Gables 

“Which do you propose to shelve and which 
to keep?” asked Dorothy. 

Lorraine opened the biggest and fattest exercise 
book. 

“This is ^The Gables Guild*,” she explained, 
“a sort of foundation society that includes all the 
others as branches. Miss Kingsley is the patron, 
and she has written on the first page : 

‘A UNION FOR SELF-CULTURE AND 
PHILANTHROPY 
Motto .’—B eihg and Doing’.” 

“Oh, goodness! What does that mean? Tm a 
duffer at long words,” protested Audrey. “Can’t 
you put it into English?” 

“Well, it means we’ve got to do something for 
ourselves and something for other people too.” 

“That’s simpler.” 

“We’ve plenty to choose from out of nineteen 
branches,” said Nellie. 

“Don’t you think it would hit the mark if we 
had a Games Club to include hockey, cricket, and 
tennis, an Entertainments Club to get up plays 
and concerts, and a Nature Study Union that 
could absorb the Research Society and the Natural 
History League both together. These would be 
for ourselves. Then for the ‘ Philanthropy ’ side, 
we could keep on the Jack Tar Club, and let the 
Needlework Society and the Home Arts Guild send 
anything they make to that.” 

“What’s the ‘Jack Tar Club’, please?” asked 
Claudia, looking up from her crochet. 


New Brooms 


39 


** It’s to give Christmas presents to the sailors 
and their wives and children. We packed off 
a huge big box to Portsmouth last year. Lily 
Anderson and Lottie Watson and Helen Stanley 
made some gorgeous things, and revelled in doing 
them.” 

‘‘And the rest of us toiled and groaned and 
grumbled, and ended by borrowing and begging 
from our long-suffering relations,” twinkled Patsie. 
“Don’t think you’ll keep that crochet edging for 
yourself. Dame Claudia! It’ll be commandeered 
to go round a tray-cloth for a Mrs. Jack Tar!” 

“ I shall probably never finish enough of it even 
to edge a d’oyley,” admitted Claudia calmly. 

“ Look here, this is side-tracking!” said Lorraine, 
rapping her pencil on the desk. “ Please to remem- 
ber that this is a Committee Meeting, and you must 
speak to the Chair. Won’t anybody make a pro- 
position?” 

“ I propose that we have what you’ve just sug- 
gested, then: a ‘Games Club’, an ‘Entertainments 
Club’, a ‘Nature Study Union’ and the ‘Jack Tar 
Club’,” said Dorothy. 

“And quite enough, too,” murmured Patsie. 

“ I’ll second it!” declared Nellie. 

“ I’d like to add an amendment,” said Lorraine. 
“I want to suggest that we have a School Social 
every month, where we can show specimens and 
drawings and photos.” 

Vivien pulled a face of discouragement. 

“We’ve got enough on,” she urged. “Leave 
us our Saturdays.” 


40 


Head Girl at The Gables 

“ We needn’t have them on Saturdays. They 
could be from four to five on Wednesdays. 1 think 
it’s just what is wanted at The Gables. Day girls 
never get an opportunity of meeting and compar- 
ing notes, and having fun together like girls do 
at boarding schools. It would be a sort of party 
every time.” 

“ I think it sounds ripping!” said Claire. ‘‘ Stick 
it in with the proposition, as far as I’m concerned.” 

‘‘ Hands up for the amendment, then!” 

Five hands went up promptly, two doubtfully, 
and Vivien’s hands remained on her lap — not 
that she really objected very much to the idea of 
“ Socials ”, but she was not disposed to give in 
too readily to all her cousin’s suggestions. The 
feeling that she herself ought to have occupied the 
presidential chair still rankled. 

Carried by a majority, however, the new scheme 
became law, and the committee, with an eye on the 
clock, and tea-time looming near, hurriedly settled 
minor details, appointed Wednesday fortnight for 
the first “ Social ”, subject to the approval of ‘Uhe 
powers that be”; and, having triumphantly con- 
cluded their business, stamped downstairs with 
more noise than was absolutely consistent with 
the dignity of monitresses — but then, the juniors 
had gone home, and were not there to hear. 

Lorraine, highly satisfied with the results of the 
meeting, was determined to make the first “Social” 
a success. She had always felt strongly that there 
was not a sufficient bond of union among the girls 
at The Gables. She remembered her own days as 


New Brooms 


41 


a junior, when the seniors had seemed distant 
and unapproachable beings, whose doings were 
a mystery. 

“I used to long to see their collections and 
drawings and things,” she ruminated, “but, if 
I ever tried to butt in, I got a jolly good snub 
for my pains. It’s going to be different now. 
Those youngsters shall have a chance. They 
can’t learn unless we show them how. I don’t 
call it sporting for the Sixth to do good work 
and hide it under a bushel. We’ll have a nice 
jinky little exhibition, and encourage everybody 
to try and make it a bigger one next time. It’ll 
spur the juniors on to see some of our attempts. 
I’ll put the screw on Vivien to bring her butter- 
flies, though I know she hates moving the cases.” 

Miss Kingsley heartily approved of the idea of 
the social gathering, and smoothed the way for its 
adoption by allowing school to be suspended at 
half-past three instead of four o’clock on those 
special Wednesday afternoons. She promised to 
provide tables in the gymnasium for the display 
of specimens, and to do anything else in her power 
to help matters forward. 

“It will give you a splendid opportunity for 
getting to know the younger girls,” she assured 
Lorraine. “I’m very glad you thought of it.” 

Determined to make the first exhibition as re- 
presentative as possible, its enthusiastic originator 
divided it into sections, and put up notices inviting 
contributions of all sorts from all quarters. At 
home she held a review of her own possible 


42 Head Girl at The Gables 

exhibits and Monica’s, and shook her head over 
them. 

“I don’t call ourselves a really clever family I” 
she acknowledged. “We plod along in our own 
way, but we don’t blaze out into leather work or 
ribbon embroidery or hand-made lace.” 

“What about my fretwork basket for Rosemary?” 
demanded Monica, rather nettled. 

“ Mervyn made the best half of it, and it was 
crooked at that,” returned Lorraine frankly. “I 
shouldn’t have cared to show it as a specimen of 
Forrester handicraft. I don’t think any of our 
efforts are much of a credit to us. I vote you and 
I go in for Natural History instead. Let’s make 
a collection of all the ferns in the neighbourhood. 
Dorothy’s bringing pressed flowers, and Vivien 
her butterflies, but I haven’t heard of anybody 
taking up the ferns. We’ll rummage round on 
Saturday afternoon, and get all the kinds we can, 
and plant them in that tin dish that’s under the 
greenhouse shelf.” 

“Is it to be your collection or mine?” asked 
Monica doubtfully. 

“Don’t be nasty! We’ll each have one if you 
like. You may have the tin for yours, and I’ll 
use that big photographic developing dish for 
mine. Will that content you, you spoilt baby?” 

“ Right oh! ” conceded Monica magnanimously. 
“ But if I do any more fretwork before the exhibi- 
tion, I’m going to show it. It’ll be as nice as Jill’s 
or Greta’s, you bet!” 

Having decided upon a representative collection 


New Brooms 


43 


of ferns as their piece de resistance for the social 
gathering, the next and most important step was 
to get the specimens. Armed with baskets and 
trowels, Lorraine and Monica made several ex- 
peditions into the country lanes, and came home 
burdened with spoils. To identify their treasures 
was a - harder task. Lorraine pored over the 
illustrations in Sowerby’s British Ferns^ and 
got horribly mixed between Lastrea dilatata and 
Athyrium Felix-foemina. 

‘‘ I know I shall put all the names wrong,” she 
declared, “ but I’ll make a shot at them, anyway.” 

“ If you want ferns,” said Mervyn, who came 
whistling into the breakfast-room where the girls 
were sitting, “I know a place where there are 
just heaps and heaps of them — all sorts and kinds. 
They’re top-hole ! ” 

“ Oh ! Where? ” exclaimed Lorraine and Monica 
in an excited duet. 

‘‘ Down the railway cutting. They’re all growing 
round the mouth of the tunnel. I’ve seen them 
lots of times, but I never took any notice of them 
before. If you like, .I’ll show you. There’ll be 
just time before it gets dark.” 

We’ll come now,” said Lorraine, running to 
fetch hat and coat. ‘‘You’re a mascot, Mervyn!” 

She had never thought of the railway cutting, 
for it was quite in the town, and seemed a most 
unlikely place in which to go botanizing. They 
walked down through the narrow streets by the 
harbour, then up the steep road past the chapel 
and above the station, till they came to the high 


44 


Head Girl at The Gables 


palings that overlooked the line. Below them 
lay the entrance to the tunnel, and growing in 
the crevices of the stone wall on either side of the 
archway was a crop of ferns luxuriant enough 
amply to justify Mervyn’s enthusiastic description. 

** How absolutely topping! ” exclaimed Lorraine, 
scaling the palings with scant consideration for her 
skirt and less for her lingers. “ Shall I help you. 
Cuckoo? Look out for splinters!’* 

But Monica’s long legs already dangled on the 
far side, and she dropped successfully if painfully 
into a clump of thistles, and followed her brother 
down the bank. 

There was no doubt about the excellence of the 
ferns, but they had one disadvantage; like most 
botanical specimens of any value, the best and 
finest grew out of reach. There was nothing for it 
but to climb the wall. They had all three mounted 
up some distance, and were busily pulling at roots, 
when a stern voice suddenly sounded in their ears. 

What are you doing up there? Get down at 
once ! ” 

Lorraine was so startled that she lost her footing, 
and descended with more speed than elegance, 
tumbling indeed almost into the arms of their 
indignant questioner. He eyed her suspiciously, 
and turned to xMervyn and Monica, who had come 
down with greater caution. 

“Now you three’ve got to give an account of 
yourselves,” he proclaimed. “I’m a special con- 
stable, and I want to know what you’re doing on 
the railway line at the mouth of a tunnel.” 


New Brooms 


45 

“We were doing no harm,” answered Mervyn, 
“only getting a few ferns.” 

“Oh, I dare say I And what else? This is 
a military area, and trespassing on the railway 
line, and especially loitering in the vicinity of 
a tunnel, comes under the heading of an offence 
against the realm. I shall have to report it. Give 
me your names and addresses.” 

The three young Forresters looked at one another 
in dismay. 

“This is absurd!” burst out Lorraine. “We 
came to get a few ferns, that’s all. TheyVe wild, 
and surely taking a root or two isn’t an offence 
against the realm?” 

“You’ve, been found in a forbidden area in a 
military zone,” returned the special constable pom- 
pously. “I’m stationed here to guard the tunnel, 
and I shall report you. If you don’t give me your 
names and addresses, I shall have to arrest you.” 

Very unwillingly the Fofresters complied, and 
watched the incriminating details being jotted down 
in an official notebook. 

“ Our father is a town councillor,” ventured Lor- 
raine, hoping for vicarious favour. 

“ That makes it so much the worse, for you ought 
to know better,” was the uncompromising reply. 
“ Take yourselves off at once, and mind you never 
come trespassing here again ! ” 

Crestfallen, but trying to preserve the family 
dignity, the Forresters beat a retreat. They scorned 
to run, and walked leisurely up the bank, while 
the special constable covered them with his eye. 


46 Head Girl at The Gables 

Monica had an uneasy suspicion that they might 
also be covered with a revolver, and, though she 
would not for worlds have shown a qualm of fear 
before Mervyn, she was nevertheless considerably 
relieved when she found herself upon the safe side 
of the fence. 

‘^Strafe the old chap and his jaw-wag!” ex- 
ploded Mervyn. “A nice mess he’s got us into 
with his fussy interference!” 

‘‘Do you think he’ll really report us?” asked 
Lorraine anxiously. 

Her spirits were down at zero. Her father was 
strict, and would be very angry with them for 
getting into trouble. A scene at home loomed 
large on the horizon. In imagination she saw the 
affair reported in the local newspaper. A nice 
position truly for the head girl at The Gables to 
begin the new term by covering herself with 
disgrace. 

Mervyn strode along whistling with amused 
sang-froid, but inwardly absorbed in unpleasant 
contemplation. Monica clutched the fern basket 
half-defiantly. 

Rounding a corner suddenly, they nearly collided 
with a thin little gentleman who was coming uphill 
at top speed. 

“So sorry!” apologized Lorraine. “Why, it’s 
Uncle Barton! Where are you going, Uncle?” 

“On special constable duty, worse luck, for it’s 
a damp evening, and I’ve a bad cold in the head,” 
he replied. “ But I’ve got to relieve somebody 
else.” 


New Brooms 


47 


An inspiration struck Lorraine. 

‘‘Are you going to the railway cutting? Oh, 
Uncle! WeVe just had such a hullabaloo down 
there. Could you possibly help us out of it?” 

Mr. Barton Forrester listened with a twinkle in 
his eye to his niece’s graphic account of their 
adventure, and promised his moral support. 

“ It’s Winston-Jones on duty there,” he com- 
mented. “ I know him, so I’ll do my best to con- 
vince him that none of you are German spies or 
dangerous incendiaries. Cheer up! They won’t 
hale you off to prison this time. I expect I can 
put matters straight, and you’ll hear no more about 
it. But remember the railway is taboo for the 
future. We can’t allow even botanists to be stray- 
ing about near tunnels in a military zone.” 

“ We won’t so much as lean over the palings. 
Thanks most immensely. Uncle! You’re an abso- 
lute angel!” 

“ I wish I had wings to waft me up the hill. 
I’m deficient in leg power to-night,” coughed Mr. 
Barton Forrester. “ No, I won’t kiss you, Monica 
— you’d catch my cold. Good-bye, all three of 
you! I’ll have a talk with Winston-Jones, and 
persuade him to wipe off that black score against 
your names.” 

“I always said Uncle Barton was a trump,” 
murmured Monica, as the three sinners, vastly 
relieved, went on their way. 

“ He’s an absolute sport,” agreed Mervyn with 
enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER IV 

Greets Claudia 

By dint of urging on the part of the new moni- 
tresses the school made a special effort for the 
social gathering. The idea of an exhibition had 
frightened the juniors at first, but when they grew 
used to it it appealed to them. They were rather 
pleased to bring specimens of their best drawings, 
photos, plasticine models, or other pieces of handi- 
work, and, though their efforts might be somewhat 
crude, Lorraine on the first occasion rejected no- 
thing, thinking that comparison with better work 
was the surest means of raising the standard for 
next time. She and her fellow-monitresses certainly 
made merry in private over Vera Chambers* lop- 
sided plasticine duck. Opal Clarke’s extraordinary 
original illustrations, and the cat-stitches in Jessie 
Lovell’s tea-cloth, but they kept their mirth to their 
own circle and allowed no hint of it to leak into the 
lower school. 

On the eventful day of the “Social” the closing 
bell rang at 3.35 instead of at four o’clock, and 
forty-two delighted girls promptly put away their 
books, closed their desks, and trooped into the 

48 


Greets Claudia 


49 


gymnasium. The monitresses, aided and abetted 
by Miss Janet, had spent a busy but successful 
time in preparation, and the room looked quite 
festive. Flags decorated the platforms, and Chinese 
lanterns were suspended from the beams of the roof. 
Round the wooden walls hung a show of sketches, 
drawings, maps, illuminations and photographs, 
fastened up with tacks and drawing pins, and on 
the tables was spread forth quite a goodly display 
of moths, butterflies, beetles, shells, sea-weeds, 
pressed wild flowers, fretwork, pokerwork, and 
needlework. All specimens were labelled with 
their owners’ names, so it was excitement to walk 
round and compare notes. Lorraine, listening 
critically, judged the mental barometer of the 
school from the juniors’ remarks, which, if slangy, 
were certainly complimentary. 

“Peggie! You paragon! What a perfectly 
chubby little bag! I couldn’t have made it if I’d 
tried till Doomsday!” 

“I should cock-a-doodle, Jill, if I'd done that 
illumination !” 

“Is this sketch x^dWy yours ^ Mabel? Hold me 
up! I feel weak.” 

“ Wonders will never cease! Here’s old Florrie 
made a collection of shells.” 

“ I think this show is a stunt!’ 

“Absolutely topping!” 

“ Keep out of my way, you blue-bottle! I can’t 
seel” 

“All right, old thing! Don’t get raggy!” 

When the exhibits had been duly admired and 

(C 975) 4 


50 


Head Girl at The Gables 


notes compared as to their respective merits, a few 
of the best musical stars performed on the piano, 
then some round games were played, and the 
proceedings closed by the whole school forming 
a wide circle and singing ‘‘Auld Lang Syne” in 
the orthodox fashion with crossed hands. 

The girls went unwillingly, and would have 
stayed for another half-hour if Miss Janet had not 
insisted upon their departure. Lorraine, putting 
on her boots in the cloak-room, decided that her 
first effort had been an unqualified success. It 
had certainly seemed to draw the school together 
in a bond of union, so far as she could judge. She 
could not resist a purr of satisfaction to Dorothy, 
whose coat hung next to hers. Dorothy’s con- 
gratulations were, however, half-hearted. 

** I suppose they enjoyed it,” she admitted 
grudgingly, “though I dare say some of them felt 
it a bore to be obliged to stay after four o’clock. 
Vivien said you’d got the whole thing up to show 
off your own specimens.” 

The hot colour flamed to Lorraine’s cheeks. 

“Oh, what a shame! I didnHX I hardly showed 
any specimens myself, only a few ferns and photos, 
and one drawing. You know it wasn’t for my own 
glorification!” 

Dorothy straightened her collar outside her 
coat as if its arrangement were the main object 
in life. 

“Oh, Fm not saying so!” she remarked care- 
lessly. “ I’m only telling you what I heard 
Vivien say. Effie Swan wondered you never 


Greets Claudia 


5 « 

asked her to play when you asked Theresa Daw- 
son.” 

“ I couldn’t ask them all — it wasn’t a concert.” 

“She’s very offended, though. I don’t think 
she’s going to copie to the next social.” 

“ Let her stay at home, then!” snapped Lorraine, 
thoroughly exasperated. 

Dorothy consulted her watch. 

“It’s frightfully late!” she sighed. “I shan’t 
have time to do my practising. We’re going out 
to a concert to-night.” 

She sauntered away, having lodged several very 
unpleasant shafts, and leaving them to rankle. 

For Lorraine, all the satisfaction of the afternoon 
had faded. Nothing hurts so much as the con- 
fidences of a so-called friend who tells you the dis- 
agreeable things that other people say about you. 
It is a particularly mean form of sincerity, for the 
remarks were probably never intended to be re- 
peated. The mischief it often causes is incalculable. 
Lorraine walked home, feeling that there was a 
barrier between herself and her cousin. 

“ I knew Vivien would be annoyed at my being 
head girl, but I didn’t think she’d be so spiteful as 
that!” she ruminated. “Well, I don’t care! I 
shall go on with the ‘socials’ all the same, and 
with any other schemes that crop up. But it is 
horrid of her, because she might have been such 
a help to me!” 

As the term went on, Lorraine began to see only 
too clearly that her two great obstacles in the school 
were Dorothy and Vivien. They did not openly 


52 


Head Girl at The Gables 


thwart her, but there was a continual undercurrent 
of opposition, not marked enough for comment, 
but sufficiently galling. No matter what she pro- 
posed, they had always some objection to offer, 
and, though in the eno ^hey might hold up their 
hands with the rest, it was with an air of con- 
cession more than of whole-hearted agreement. 
They were the cleverest girls in the form, so it was 
hard to have to count them as opponents, rather 
than as allies, in her work. The other members of 
the Sixth, who had passed up the school with her, 
she knew from experience would give scant help. 
Patsie was a good-natured rattle-trap, Audrey an 
amiable little goose; Nellie and Claire were very 
stodgy, ordinary girls, without an original idea 
between them, and not much notion of the re- 
sponsibilities of monitresses. 

“ I want somebody to back me up, and act as 
lieutenant,” thought Lorraine. 

It was at this juncture that she discovered the 
capacities of Claudia. 

She had, so far, taken very little notice of the 
newcomer, except by vaguely appreciating the fact 
of her extreme prettiness. Claudia had not pushed 
herself, and the intimacy which now sprang up 
between the two girls came of a mere chance. 
Miss Kingsley had asked the school to collect 
fruit-stones and nuts, to be sent to headquarters 
for use in the manufacture of gas-masks for tfte 
army. It was a point of patriotism for everyone 
to bring as many as possible. 

Lorraine, strolling put one Saturday on this 


Greets Claudia 


53 


errand, did not find it an easy matter to fill her 
basket. The appeal was a universal one in the 
town, and the Council School children had been 
on the common before her, picking up the beech- 
mast and acorns. As for hazel-nuts, there seemed 
not a solitary one left in the hedges. She was 
wandering disconsolately along, foraging with 
small success, when she happened to meet Claudia. 
Lorraine held out her quarter -filled basket for 
sympathy. 

‘‘That’s all I’ve been able to find, and if there 
are any more to be had. I’m sure I don’t know 
where they are!” 

“ There are heaps of horse-chestnuts in the fields 
above our house,” replied Claudia. “ I’m going 
home now, and, if you care to come with me, I’ll 
help you to get some.” 

Lorraine jumped at the offer, and the girls set off 
together up the road, chatting briskly. 

The Castletons had only come lately to Porth- 
keverne. Mr. Castleton was an artist, and, attracted 
by the quaint streets, picturesque harbour, and the 
glorious cliffs and sea in the neighbourhood, he 
had taken Windy Howe, an empty farmhouse on 
a hill some way above the town, converting a 
big barn into a studio, and establishing himself 
there with easels, paint-boxes, and a huge pile 
of immense canvases. 

A crjtic had once described Mr. Castleton as a 
genius who had just missed fire, and the simile 
was an apt one. His large pictures were good, 
but not always good enough to hit the public 


54 


Head Girl at The Gables 

taste. He was constantly changing his style, and 
one year would astonish the exhibitions by misty 
impressionism, and the next would return to pre- 
Raphaelite methods. He had dabbled in sculpture, 
illustration, frescoes, and miniature painting, and 
had published two volumes of minor poems, which, 
unfortunately, had never commanded a good sale. 
He was a handsome, interesting man, utterly un- 
practical and irrational, delightful to talk to, but 
exasperating in the extreme to those with whom he 
had business. The quaint, old-fashioned homestead 
on the hill, with its low-ceiled bedrooms, panelled 
parlours, black-beamed kitchen, ivied porch, thick 
hedge of fuchsias, and view over a stretch of heath 
and the dancing waters of the bay, satisfied his 
artistic temperament, and provided a suitable back- 
ground for the new ideas which he was constantly 
evolving. Moreover — though this was quite a 
secondary consideration — it afforded sufficient 
accommodation for his family. 

Lorraine’s first impression of the Castletons was 
that they went in for both quality and quantity. 
They numbered nine, and all had the same nicely- 
shaped noses, Cupid mouths, irreproachable com- 
plexions, neat teeth, dark-fringed blue eyes, and 
shining sunlit hair. They were a veritable gold- 
mine to artists, and their portraits had been painted 
constantly by their father and his friends. Pictures 
of them in various costumes and poses had appeared 
as coloured supplements to annuals or as frontis- 
pieces in magazines; they had figured in the 
Academy, and had been bought for permanent 


Greets Claudia 


55 


collections in local art galleries. The features of 
Morland, Claudia, Landry, Beata, Romola, and 
Madox had for years been familiar to frequenters 
of provincial exhibitions, sometimes singly, some- 
times in groups, and sometimes with the lovely 
mother, whose profile was considered a near 
approach to that of the classic statue of Ceres. 

Five years before this story opens, pretty, im- 
petuous, blue-eyed Mrs. Castleton had suddenly 
resigned all the sad and glad things that make up 
the puzzle we call life, and passed on to sample the 
ways of a wider world. For the first six months 
her husband had mourned for her distractedly, and 
had written quite a little volume of poems in her 
memory ; for the next eight months he was attrac- 
tively pensive, and then — all in a few weeks — he 
fell in love again and married his model, a girl of 
barely seventeen, with a beautiful Burne-Jones face 
and a Cockney accent. In the following few years 
three more carnation-cheeked, golden-haired little 
Casletons — Constable, Lilith, and Perugia — had 
tumbled into this planet to form a second nursery, 
and were already learning to sit for their portraits 
in various attractive studio poses. 

Claudia, running into the house to fetch an extra 
basket for the horse-chestnuts, introduced Lorraine 
to a few members of the family who happened to 
be straying about, showed her a row of pictures 
in the dining-room, and escorted her through the 
gap at the bottom of the garden into the fields at 
the back of the barn. 

Sitting on the farther gate, whittling a stick, 


56 Head Girl at The Gables 

was a boy of seventeen, with the unmistakable 
Castleton features and sunlit hair. 

“Hallo, Morland!” cried Claudia. “We're 
jgoing to get chestnuts. Do come and help; there’s 
a sport! This is Lorraine Forrester.” 

Morland would no doubt have performed the 
orthodox ceremony of lifting his cap, but, being 
bareheaded, he grinned and shook hands instead. 

“ Don’t advise you to eat them — they’re beastly !” 
he vouchsafed. 

“We’re not going to — they’re for the soldiers!” 

“Then I pity the poor beggars, that’s all.” 

“ They’re not to be eaten, they’re to be made into 
gas-masks. I told you all about it, Morland,” 
declared Claudia. 

“ I’ve a shocking memory,” he demurred. “ But 
whatever they’re for I’ll help you get some. Here, 
give me this to carry,” and he took Lorraine’s 
basket and hung it over his arm. 

There were plenty of chestnuts lying on the 
ground under the trees, and more hanging on 
the branches which could be dislodged by a well- 
aimed stone. The young people spent a profitable 
half-hour, and filled their handkerchiefs as well 
as their baskets. 

“I shall have heaps now!” exulted Lorraine. 
“You two are trumps to have helped me!” 

“ I’d nothing else to do,” said Morland. 

“Wouldn’t Violet let you practise?” asked 
Claudia quickly. 

“ No, she said it woke up Perugia!” 

Claudia shrugged her shoulders eloquently. 


Greets Claudia 


57 


“ It’s always the way!” she replied. 

“Are you fond of music?” asked Lorraine. 

“Love it! It’s the only thing I do care about. 
I’d play all day and night if Violet didn’t turn 
me out. She locks the piano sometimes.” 

“ Is she your sister?” 

Morland and Claudia both laughed and looked 
at each other, and the latter explained: 

“No, she’s our stepmother, but she’s so young 
that all of us call her Violet. She’s not such a 
bad sort on the whole, but We have squalls some- 
times, don’t we, Morland?” 

“ Rather!” nodded the boy. 

“Constable and Lilith used to sleep through 
anything and everything,” added Claudia, “but 
Perugia’s a fidgety child, and she wakes up and 
yells when she hears the piano.” 

“ I play the violin a little,” admitted Lorraine 
modestly. “I wonder if you two would come 
down some day and try a few things over with 
me. I’ve nobody to play my accompaniments 
since Rosemary went away. I know Mother 
would be pleased to see you.” 

“ We’d just love it! You bet we’ll come!” 

Lorraine, pouring out the account of her ad- 
ventures when she reached home, sought confir- 
mation from her mother for the invitation she had 
given to the young Castletons. 

“They’re the most fascinating family! I saw 
them all as Claudia was taking me back through 
the garden. I think each one’s more perfectly 
beautiful than the others. They’re absbfutely 


58 Head Girl at The Gables 

romantic. You will let me ask Morland and 
Claudia to tea, won’t you, Muvvie?” 

‘‘ I will in this case, because I know something 
of Mr. Castleton from the Lorrimers, but you 
mustn’t go giving broadcast invitations again 
without consulting me first.” 

‘‘I won’tl I won’t! You’re a darling to let 
me have them. Muvvie, I’m so thankful you’re 
not our stepmother!” 

“So am I,” returned Mrs. Forrester humor- 
ously. “ I find my own family quite a sufficient 
handful, and what I should have done with another 
woman’s in addition, I don’t know. It would have 
been quite too big a burden.” 

“We can play the piano here,” said Lorraine, 
“ because there isn’t any baby to wake up and 
cry.” 

“If there were, you’d have to reckon with me, 
for I shouldn’t let it be disturbed when I’d suc- 
cessfully hushed it to sleep. I haven’t forgotten 
my own struggles with you and Richard. You 
were the naughtiest babies of the whole tribe.” 

After this rather unconventional introduction, 
Lorraine’s attraction to the Castletons ripened fast 
into intimate friendship. They were such an un- 
usual family, so clever and interesting, yet with 
Bohemian ways that were different from those of 
any one she had yet known. 

In the case of Morland and Claudia their father’s 
artistic talent had cropped out in the form of music. 
Claudia cared nothing for painting, but was just 
beginning to discover that she had a voice. Mor- 


59 


Greets Claudia 

land, hopeless as far as school work was concerned, 
had learned to play the piano almost by instinct. 
He was a handsome, careless, good-tempered boy, 
decidedly weak in character, who drifted aim- 
lessly along without even an ambition in life. 
He was seventeen and a half, and for nearly a 
year had been lounging about at home, doing 
nothing in particular. Spasmodically his father 
would realize his existence and say: “I must 
really do something with Morland.” Then he 
would get absorbed in a fresh picture, and his 
good intentions on his son’s behalf would fade 
to vanishing point. In another six months the 
lad would be liable for military service, so until 
the war should be over it seemed scarcely worth 
while to start him in any special career. Doing 
nothing, however, is a bad training, and even 
Mr. Castleton’s artistic friends — not prone as a 
rule to proffer good advice — tendered the occa- 
sional comment that Morland was ‘‘runriing to 
seed”. Morland himself was perfectly happy if 
he was left alone and allowed to sit and improvise 
at the piano; he never troubled his head about 
his future career, and was as unconcerned as the 
ravens regarding the sources of food and raiment. 

He played Lorraine’s accompaniments easily at 
sight, with a delicacy of touch and an artistic 
rendering such as Rosemary had never put into 
them. It inspired Lorraine, and yet half humiliated 
her; she was a painstaking but not a very clever 
student of the violin; no touch of genius ever 
flowed from her fingers. To listen to Morland 


6o Head Girl at The Gables 

was to gain a glimpse of a new musical world in 
which he flew on wings and she stumbled on 
crutches. She sighed as she threw down her 
violin, for she had all the ambition that he un- 
fortunately lacked. 


CHAPTER V 


A Question of Discipline 

At school Claudia rapidly became one of Lor- 
raine’s best allies. She made no undue fuss, but 
she could always be depended upon for support. 
Being a new girl, she was more ready to take up 
new ways than were the other moni tresses, who 
remembered the regime of Lily Anderson, and were 
inclined to judge everything by former standards. 
The chief bone of contention was the bar between 
seniors and juniors. Hitherto it had not been eti- 
quette for the upper and lower school to mix more 
than was absolutely necessary; the elder girls had 
held themselves aloof, and even in the too numerous 
guilds and societies had insisted upon senior and 
junior branches. 

Having broken the ice with the social gathering, 
at which every one alike showed exhibits, Lorraine 
began to tun all her organizations on more popular 
lines. She persuaded a few volunteers to super- 
intend the little girls* games; she set aside two 
special pages for their efforts in the manuscript 
magazine, and allowed them to vote for their own 
captain in their basket-ball club. These fresh de- 
partures did not pass without opposition. Some of 
61 


62 Head Girl at The Gables 

her colleagues hinted broadly that Lorraine was 
making a bid for popularity. 

“ Monitresses should be loyal to the Sixth!” 
sniffed Vivien. “We don’t want to mix with 
Dick, Tom and Harry!” 

“Don’t you?” laughed Patsie, who never could 
resist a shot at Vivien. “ I should have thought 
it was just Dick, Tom and Harry you wanted to 
mix with, and you’re disgusted because it’s only 
Maud, Gertie and Florrie! Honestly, you’d be far 
happier in a boys’ school. You’d better get your 
mother to send you to one!” 

“ There’s such a thing as co-education ! ” retorted 
Vivien. 

“So there is!” chuckled Patsie. 

She chuckled thoughtfully, for Vivien’s remark 
had given her an idea. She confided it to Audrey, 
who was rather a chum of hers. 

“I’m a little fed up with the Duchess,” she 
remarked, “and I want to play a rag on her. I 
7niist play a rag on somebody, for things have 
been so dull lately, and the school wants livening 
up. She said something about co-education.” 

" What’s co-education?” asked Audrey vaguely. 

“ Why, boys and girls going to school together. 
I believe they do it in America, and at just two or 
three places in England. I’m going to pretend 
that Miss Kingsley’s taken it up, and that some 
boys are coming here. Vivien would be so fear- 
fully excited. Oh ! and I’ll tell you what” — Patsie’s 
eyes danced — “the most topping notion’s just 
come to me! Let me whisper it!” 


A Question of Discipline 63 

Audrey bent a wavy brown head with a pale pink 
hair ribbon to receive the communication, then 
exploded into ripples of laughter. 

‘‘Grade and Sybil! They’ve got short hair!” 
she hinnied. “ Oh, it will be an absolute stunt!” 

The confederates did not publish their plans 
beforehand. Patsie was an experienced joker, and 
knew that the point would be lost if any hint were 
to leak out. It was noticeable, however, that in 
recreation time she paraded round the gymnasium 
arm-in-arm with Gracie Tatham and Sybil Snow, 
two tall Fifth Form girls. The fact was commented 
upon by Vivien herself. 

“Another of Patsie’s sudden friendships!” she 
remarked. “ She doesn’t generally have two going 
at the same time. What’s come to her?” 

“She’s weighed down by her responsibility as 
a monitress, and is trying to spread culture through 
the school,” explained Audrey, with a grave 
mouth, but an irrepressible twinkle in her eyes. 

“Culture! Great Minerva! I’m sorry for the 
school if it takes Patsie as a model !” 

Vivien, like most of us, was a mixture of faults 
and virtues. One of her strong points was punctu- 
ality, and on this Patsie counted. She was nearly 
always one of the first to enter the cloak-room in 
the mornings. She liked to look over her lessons 
and set her books in order. On the following 
Thursday she turned up as usual at about a quarter 
to nine, and found, to her surprise, that Patsie 
and Audrey had already taken off their hats, and 
were tidying their hair in front of the mirror. 


64 Head Girl at The Gables 

You here! Wonders will never cease! What’s 
brought you out so early? Dear me, there’s a 
large amount of titivating going on! Is all that 
for Miss Turner’s benefit?” 

Patsie deliberately fluffed out her hair, twisted a 
kiss-curl round her finger, and readjusted her slide 
before she answered: 

“ Haven’t you heard the news?” she said ab- 
stractedly, pushing aside Audrey, who was trying 
to edge her from the mirror. 

“ What news?’* 

“ Miss Kingsley’s trying a new venture. I think 
you’ll get a surprise when you go into our class- 
room !” 

‘‘Of course some boys’ schools have really had 
to be given up for lack of masters, so what else can 
be done while the war’s on?” added Audrey. 

“ What d’you mean?” 

“ I won’t exactly tell you, but I can give you 
a hint. Look over there!” and Patsie nodded in 
the direction of the window. 

Hanging on hooks were two boys’ overcoats 
and caps. Vivien gazed at them as if thunder- 
struck. 

“ Not co-education !” she gasped. 

“ I don’t know what you call it,” said Audrey, 
“ but I think it will be rather a stunt. Come alono-, 

o ' 

Patsie, and have first innings!” 

As the chums ran from the room, Vivien hurriedly 
buttoned her shoes and tore after them. 

“Where are they?” she asked excitedly, catching 
Audrey by the arm, “ What are their names?” 


A Question of Discipline 65 

I don’t know any more than yourself yet.” 

‘‘We’ll soon find out,” volunteered Patsie fling- 
ing open the door of the Sixth Form room. 

An unusual spectacle certainly greeted them: 
unusual at any rate in a ladies’ school. Sitting 
on the desks with their backs to the door were 
two masculine figures, engaged in the pleasing 
occupation of pelting each other with exercise- 
books. 

Apparently they did not hear the girls’ entrance, 
for they continued their conversation. 

“ Rather a blossomy stunt to be here!” 

“Great Judkins, yes! Guess we’ll make things 
hum! I’m nuts on the girls !” 

“ Hope they’re a decent-looking set!” 

“ Oh, right enough on the whole! But, old 
chap, let me tell you there’s one — her name’s 
Vivien ” 

Here, to prevent awkward revelations, Vivien 
interrupted with a judicious cough. The long, 
trouser-clad legs slid from the desks, and the two 
manly voices ejaculated: 

“Hallo! Our new school mates! How d’ye 
do?” 

“Charmed to meet you. Pm sure!” 

Quite in a flutter, Vivien advanced, looked, 
gasped, and spluttered out: 

“Grade and Sybil; you wretches!” 

The masculine figures, unmindful of manners, 
collapsed on to the nearest seats, and sobbed with 
laughter. 

“Took you in this time, old sport! Don’t we 
( C 975 ) 5 


66 Head Girl at The Gables 

make killing boys? I believe you were just gone 
on us both I Oh, how it hurts to laugh! I feel 
weak !” 

‘‘ I think you’re a pair of idiots!” retorted Vivien. 
“ I don’t see anything funny in it.” 

‘‘ IVedOf though!” cackled Patsie. ** Oh, Vivien, 
you looked so interested and excited! It gave me 
spasms! There, don’t get ratty over it! Brace 
up!” 

‘‘It was a jinky joke!” burbled Audrey. “I 
say, you two, you’d better scoot quick and do some 
lightning changing! If Miss Janet comes in 
there’ll be squalls! She’s not quite ready yet for 
co-education here. Stick on your waterproofs 
again! There, bolt before you’re caught!” 

“A nice monitress are, Patsie Sullivan!” 
exploded the outraged Vivien. “ Where’s our 
authority to go to, I should like to know, if you 
and Audrey put Fifth Form girls up to such tricks? 
I wonder you condescend to it! If / were head 
girl, I can tell you I’d have something to say to 
you ! But with these new slack ways there’ll be no 
respect for us left. The school’s going to the dogs, 
in my opinion!” 

Patsie and Audrey beat a hurried retreat, for 
they knew that there was a certain amount of 
justice in Vivien’s remarks. Their escapade, a 
report of which would, of course, be circulated 
through the school, would in no way enhance the 
authority of the Sixth. They hoped Lorraine 
would not hear about it, though it seemed inevit- 
able that it must come to her ears. As a matter of 


A Question of Discipline 67 

fact, Lorraine learnt the whole story before she had 
taken off her boots. She made little comment, but 
went into class with a cloud on her face. 

The head girl was going through the difficult 
experience, shared by all who are suddenly placed 
in authority, of trying to hold the reins so as to 
satisfy everybody. To keep slackers up to the mark 
without gaining for herself the unenviable reputation 
of “a Tartar”, to be pleasant with the juniors 
without loss of dignity, to preserve old standards 
while adopting new ones, called for all the tact 
she possessed. She often felt her cousin a great 
impediment. Vivien was one of those people who 
love to give good advice, and to say what they 
would do in certain circumstances, urging on others 
drastic measures which they would probably never 
enforce themselves if they happened to be in au- 
thority. Sometimes, however, the objections were 
just, and this was a case in point. The matter 
floated in Lorraine’s mind all the morning, as a 
kind of background to English literature and 
mathematics. She called a monitresses’ meeting 
for four o’clock that very day. 

When afternoon school was over, and Miss 
Janet, with the big volume of Milton, had taken 
her departure, Lorraine assembled her committee, 
intercepting Patsie and Audrey, who were trying 
to sneak from the room. 

“Look here, you’ve got to stop!” she assured 
them. 

“I’ve to call at the dressmaker’s; I’ve brought 
my bicycle on purpose!” objected Audrey. 


68 Head Girl at The Gables 

“Then the dressmaker will have to wait ten 
minutes.” 

“And I’m due at the dentist’s,” declared Patsie. 

“The dentist can wait too! It’s most important 
for us all to be at this meeting. I can’t possibly 
let any one off it.” 

Rather sulkily, Audrey and Patsie went back to 
their desks. Possibly they might have rebelled, 
but public opinion was plainly against them. 
Vivien was looking virtuous, and Dorothy made 
some pointed remarks about duty before pleasure. 

“ If you think going to the dentist’s and having 
that horrible drill whirling round and round inside 
your tooth is a pleasure, I wish you’d go instead 
of me,” retorted Patsie, flinging her books back 
into her desk and banging the lid hard. “You’d 
be only too welcome to take my place.” 

“Don’t be shrill, child. Business is business, 
and the sooner we get it over the better. I want 
to go home myself.” 

“ I won’t keep you all more than a few minutes,” 
interposed Lorraine. “ What I want to say is this, 
that though I have openly rather held a brief for 
the juniors in some ways, I don’t mean our au- 
thority over them to be in the least lesseaed. 
Please don’t misunderstand me about it. We 
must thoroughly uphold our dignity as moni- 
tresses,” (turning a reproachful eye on Patsie and 
Audrey) “and enforce the rules as much as ever.” 

“ Hear! hear! It doesn’t do to grow slack,” said 
Vivien pointedly. 

“We’re certainly not going to grow slack. I 


A Question of Discipline 69 

put it to every monitress to make it a point of 
honour to keep up discipline. There must be no 
truckling even with Fifth Form girls. Rules are 
rules!” 

“ Right you are, O Queen!” 

“ We’ll be a regular set of dragons!” 

“ No giving in on our part!” 

“ Those juniors have been trying it on lately!” 

“They’re the limit sometimes!” 

“Well, I’m glad we’re all agreed,” remarked 
Lorraine. “Whatever happens, we must support 
one another. I need not keep you any longer now. 
Patsie wants to get away to her dentist.” 

“Ugh! I don’t feel in such a hurry to go and 
be tortured when it comes to the point,” shuddered 
Patsie. 

“But I’m keen on the dressmaker. She’s making 
me the sweetest coat-frock you ever saw — in brown 
velveteen with braid trimming!” purred Audrey. 

Having decided to keep a tight hand over the 
turbulent juniors, the monitresses proceeded to live 
up to their resolution. They inspected the cloak- 
room, sternly repressed giggling and talking on 
the stairs, and insisted upon an orderly queue for 
the issue of library books. Even Patsie turned the 
twinkle in her eye into a glance of reproof. The 
lower forms, who had certainly been trying how 
far they could go, were disposed to rebel, and gave 
trouble on one or two occasions, but the slightest 
attempt at mutiny was met with instant firmness. 

“ Don’t let them master you for a minute,” coun- 
selled Lorraine. “If anything very flagrant 


70 


Head Girl at The Gables 


happens, report to me, and we’ll deal with it in 
Committee.” 

It was only a few days after this, at twenty 
minutes past two by the big clock in the hall, that 
Vivien turned into the Sixth Form room, where 
most of her fellow-monitresses were assembled. 
Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes flashed 
sparks. 

“I’ve been having stu^h a row with those wretched 
kids!” she exploded. “What do you think a lot 
of them were doing? Why, they’d actually gone 
into the gym., where everything had been placed 
ready for senior drill, and were racketing about 
with the clubs and dumb-bells. The second they 
saw me they bolted, and made a dash through the 
far door and out into the garden, leaving clubs and 
dumb-bells lying just anywhere. You never saw 
such a mess as the gym. was in! I had to send 
Effie Swan and Theresa Dawson to put things in 
order again. Then I went round to the cloak- 
room, and asked every single girl if she had been 
in the gym. Some of them owned up quite frankly, 
but one told me a deliberate lie.” 

“A lie! Good gracious! Are you perfectly 
certain?” 

“Absolutely sure. Couldn’t be mistaken. I 
saw her myself in the gym. She was the very 
last to run out.” 

“The mean little sneak! Lying is the absolute 
limit!” frowned Lorraine. “We can’t stand that 
kind of thing — we shall just have to make an 
example of her. Which kiddie was it?” 


A Question of Discipline 71 

‘‘ I’m frightfully sorry to have to say it — but it 
was Monica.” 

There was dead silence for a moment. Lorraine’s 
face was grim. 

‘‘ Are you perfectly sure, Vivien?” asked Claudia. 

‘‘If you saw her, there’s no more to be said,” 
declared Lorraine emphatically. “ Monica must 
report herself here after four o’clock, and we’ll 
deal with the case as it deserves. Nellie, will you 
please take her this message,” rapidly scribbling 
the summons on a piece of exercise-paper, “and 
tell her she’s to come before going to the cloak- 
room. Dorothy, would you mind fetching me the 
Guilds Register? I’m going to cross off Monica’s 
name. We can’t have a liar in any of the societies.” 

“Oh, Lorraine, stop! Don’t condemn her un- 
heard!” pleaded Claudia. “She may have some 
excuse to offer.” 

“ Qui s’excuse s’accuse!” returned Lorraine 
bitterly. “ I’m afraid it’s only too plain.” 

“ But do let me try to find out! Don’t be in such 
a dreadful hurry! Wait a bit!” 

“What’s the use of waiting? It had better be 
done now!” 

And Lorraine, with a firm hand, drew a thick 
ink line through the name of Monica Forrester. 

All through afternoon school Lorraine’s head 
was in a whirl. The fact that Monica was her 
sister made her the more ready to punish her 
severely. No one should say that she showed 
favour to her own family. After the crusade she 
had made for discipline, it was necessary to be 


72 


Head Girl at The Gables 

Stern. And yet — Monica! She could not credit 
the child with telling a lie. Naughty and wilful 
she had often been, but deceitful and untruthful 
never. It was indeed a hard blow to be obliged 
to convict her of such sneaking behaviour. Yet 
duty was duty, and Lorraine set her teeth. Just 
before four o’clock Claudia asked permission from 
the mistress to leave a few minutes earlier, and 
made her exit while Patsie was collecting the essay 
books. Lorraine looked at her reproachfully, but 
of course could make no comment before Miss 
Turner. Directly the latter had taken her de- 
parture, there came a timid tap at the door, and 
Monica entered, a white-faced little figure with 
big puzzled eyes. 

“ You sent for me?” she faltered. 

“Yes, I did send for you,” replied Lorraine 
grimly. want to ask you, before all the moni- 
tresses, whether you were in the gym. this after- 
noon. Give a straight answer, Monica!” 

“ I’ve told Vivien I wasn’t.” 

“ Do you stick to that?” 

“Yes.” 

“ But Vivien saw you! ” 

“ So she says. Can’t believe me, Lorraine? ” 

Monica’s grey eyes were fixed full on her sister’s 
face. There was a quiver in her voice. Lorraine 
steeled her heart and looked away. 

“The word of a monitress is sufficient. I have 
been obliged to strike your name off the Guilds 
Register, Monica. For this term, at any rate, you 
won’t have the privilege of belonging to any of 



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A Question of Discipline 73 

the societies. I want you juniors to understand 
once and for all that you can’t break rules and tell 
untruths. If you’d only confess! ” 

“ I can’t confess what I’ve not done! ” 

But it’s been proved against you, so it’s no use 
persisting in denying it. I ” 

“Stop a moment, Lorraine!” cried Claudia, 
bursting suddenly into the room. “ It’s quite a 
mistake! It wasn’t Monica, after all! I ran down- 
stairs and caught those juniors as they came out. 
I watched their backs, and Irene Holt has just 
the same blue serge and buttons as Monica, and 
the same coloured hair ribbon. They aren’t alike 
in front, but their back views are absolute twins. 
I took Irene by the shoulders, and told her I knew 
she was guilty, and letting the blame fall on 
Monica, and she threw up the sponge at once, 
literally howled, and acknowledged it was she who 
had been in the gym. I told her to go and wait 
in her own form room, and she’s sitting there, boo- 
hooing for all she’s worth.” 

“Irene! The little sneak! I’m awfully sorry, 
Monica!” apologized Vivien. 

Lorraine’s face cleared like sunlight bursting 
through a cloud. Her relief at the turn events 
had taken was intense. 

“Shall I bring up the wretched kid?” asked 
Claudia. 

“Oh, do please forgive her!” pleaded Monica. 
“She’s such a scared rabbit! She never knows 
what she’s saying!” 

“ Well, I call that sporting of you ! ” said Vivien, 


74 


Head Girl at The Gables 


smacking Monica heartily on the back. “I vote we 
just say no more about the whole business. Let 
Irene scoot off and mop her eyes at home. She's 
been punished enough, I dare say.” 

Right you are! ” agreed the others readily. 

‘‘I’ll tell her she may go, then,” said Claudia. 
“Lorraine, for goodness’ sake take a penknife and 
scratch out that score you made through Monica’s 
name in the Guilds Register. I told you to wait, 
but you were in such a precious hurry to execute 
vengeance.” 

“I’ll be only too glad to restore the honour of the 
family,” smiled Lorraine. 


CHAPTER VI 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 

To make amends to Monica for having doubted 
her word, Lorraine took her on Saturday afternoon 
to see the Castletons. They found all the younger 
members of that interesting family amusing them- 
selves in the garden, digging their war plots 
and, sweeping up dead leaves. They were warm- 
hearted, friendly children, and adopted Monica 
immediately. By the end of ten minutes she was 
seated on the dead leaves inside the wheel-barrow, 
nursing Perugia, with Madox squatting at her feet, 
Beata and Romola chattering one on each side, 
while Lilith and Constable brought dilapidated 
toys for her inspection. As she seemed to be per- 
fectly happy and to be thoroughly enjoying herself, 
Lorraine suggested leaving her there for a while. 

“ I thought perhaps you’d like to come and walk 
with me? ” she said to Claudia. 

“I’d love it above everything. May Morland 
and Landry go too?” 

“ Why, of course, if they care to! ” 

“You won’t mind Landry?” Claudia hesitated 
and blushed rosy pink. “You know he’s not 
quite the same as other boys. You mustn’t expect 

75 


76 Head Girl at The Gables 

too much from him. But he’s very affectionate, 
and he likes to come with us.” 

‘*Oh, please bring him! I quite understand!” 

Lorraine had indeed seen at once, without any 
explanation from Claudia, that poor Landry, in 
spite of his fourteen years, was more childish than 
Madox. He was a fine well-grown boy, in features 
perhaps the most beautiful of all the handsome 
family, with china blue eyes and pale gold hair 
that curled from the roots, and a mouth that would 
have done credit to one of Botticelli’s cherubs. 
In mind, however, Landry had never advanced 
beyond the age of seven. He was quiet and in- 
offensive, spoke little, and seemed to live in a sort 
of dream world of his own. He was devoted to 
Claudia, and quite happy and contented if he might 
follow her about and be near her. With the rest 
of the family, and especially with his stepmother, 
he was sometimes fractious, but Claudia could 
always manage him and calm him down. Her 
invariable kindness to him was one of the nicest 
features in her character. He clung to her arm 
now as the four young people set off across the 
moor. 

‘‘He’s been having rather a blow-up with 
Violet,” explained Claudia. “It’s your own fault 
this time, Landry, you know! Still, it’s just as 
well to take a walk and let the atmosphere clear 
before we come back. Violet easily fizzes over, 
but she doesn’t keep it up long. Where shall 
we go, Lorraine? You know the walks here better 
than we do.” 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 77 

“Suppose we go past Pettington Church and 
along the cliffs to Tangy Point?” 

“Right you are! Anything you like will suit 
us,” agreed Morland easily. 

So they turned through the farmyard and down 
the steep lane that led to the small church whose 
square grey tower and carved Norman doorway 
looked out across the green cliff-side to the sea. 

“Father was sketching here yesterday,” volun- 
teered Claudia, pausing to peep in at the gateway. 

“ What was he painting?” asked Lorraine, stop- 
ping also to look and admire, for the mellow October 
sunshine glinting on the grey walls and the autumn- 
clad trees and the gleaming sea made a picture all 
in russet and pearl. 

“ It’s one of a series of illustrations for Matthew 
Arnold’s poem, ‘The Forsaken Merman’. You 
know it, don’t you? Well, this is ‘ the little grey 
church on the windy hill ’, where Margaret came 
to say her prayers. You remember she left her 
merman husband and her children in ‘the clear 
green sea’ because — 

‘ ’T will be Easter time in tlie world — ah me ! 

And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.’ 

She promised to come back to them all, but she 
never came, so they went to look for her. 

‘ From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers. 
But we stood without in the cold-blowing airs. 

We climbed on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains. 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 
She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: 

‘ Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.’” 


78 Head Girl at The Gables 

“That’s the part Daddy’s drawing — just where 
they’re peeping in through the windows. He 
sketched Lilith this morning for the youngest mer- 
maiden; he’s given her a little fish’s tail, and she 
looks such a darling! And Beata and Romola are 
bigger ones, leaning on a gravestone with their 
arms round each other’s neck, and garlands of 
shells in their hair, and Constable is holding up 
a great trail of sea-weed. Father’s going to draw 
me as Margaret for one illustration; I’m to be sit- 
ting at my wheel ‘in the humming town’. He’s just 
bought a ducky little spinning-wheel on purpose!” 

“ What fun to be put in a picture!” 

“ No, it isn’t! We all think it a horrid nuisance 
to have to be Daddy’s models and sit still for hours 
just when we want to do something else. But 
you’ll like the merman picture, especially Lilith. 
She’s really sweet!” 

“ You’ve seen the mermaid carved on the chancel 
bench inside?” asked Lorraine. 

“ No, I haven’t. I’ve not been to the church on 
week-days.” 

“ I go sometimes. Mr. Jacques lets me practise 
on the organ,” said Morland. “ But I’ve never 
noticed any mermaid there.” 

“Oh, come in and look at her, then! She’s 
worth seeing.” 

The church was open, so they stepped from the 
sunshine outside into the soft diffused golden light 
glowing on sandstone pillars, oak-beamed roof, and 
saint-filled windows. It was newly decorated for 
harvest festival— great clumps of Michaelmas daisies 


79 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 

hid the font, scarlet bryony berries trailed from the 
lectern, and chrysanthemums screened the pulpit. 
The air was sweet with the scent of flowers. 
Lorraine led the way to the chancel, and, moving 
aside some torch lilies, disclosed to view the end of 
a choir-bench, where, on the ancient black oak, 
was roughly carved the figure of a mermaid, with 
comb and glass in hand. 

“There’s a story about her,” said* Lorraine. 
“There was a young fisherman who sang in the 
choir. He had such a lovely voice that it was 
more beautiful even than her own, and she fell in 
love with him. She used to come on Sunday 
evenings and sit outside the church to listen to 
him singing. Then, one day when he was out 
in his boat, she rose up from the waves and 
beckoned to him. He rowed close to her, and she 
suddenly clasped him in her arms and carried him 
down into the sea. He was never seen again ; and 
the villagers carved the picture of the mermaid in 
the church to remind people of what had 
happened.” 

“What a most amazing story I I must tell 
Daddy. Perhaps he’ll like to draw that too,” said 
Claudia. “ By the by, where’s Landry?” looking 
round anxiously after her charge. 

“He’s all right,” Morland assured her. ‘‘He’s 
gone up those dusty stairs into a little musty, cob- 
webby gallery. He always goes and sits there 
while I’m practising the organ. Can’t think why 
he should like it; but he doesn’t do any harm, so 
I let him. Look! You can see him.” 


8o Head Girl at The Gables 


Morland pointed upwards, where, at the west 
end of the church, ran a small gallery. Over its 
carved oak balustrade leaned Landry, like a cherub 
on a Jacobean monument. The sunlight, glinting 
through the window above, turned his golden curls 
into a halo. 

^‘He’s waiting for me to play,” continued Mor- 
land. 

Oh, do!” cried Lorraine. 

The organ was unlocked, so Morland seated him- 
self and began to improvise slow, dreamy, haunt- 
ing music, that rose and fell through the little 
church like the murmur of the sea. Whatever 
faults of character the boy might have, his face was 
rapt when he played, and to Lorraine it seemed as 
if the very saints and angels in the stained-glass 
windows were looking and listening. Landry sat 
with parted lips and far-away blue eyes. 

“He’s always quiet when Morland is playing,” 
whispered Claudia. “He loves music. I wish 
we could teach him. I’ve tried, but it’s absolutely 
hopeless. He’d sit there all the afternoon, and 
I verily believe Morland would too, once he’s 
started on that organ. We shall have to stop 
him if we want to go on with our walk. Morland! 
We’re keeping Lorraine waiting!” 

Morland came back from the clouds and closed 
the organ, Claudia beckoned Landry down from 
the gallery, and they stepped out again into the 
sunshine and the fresh salt breeze that blew up 
from the shore. 

It was a beautiful path to Tangy Point, all along 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 8i 

the edge of the cliffs, with great rugged rocks 
below, and the sea lapping gently on the shingle. 
Gulls flashed white wings against the autumn blue 
of the sky, and linnets twittered among the gorse 
bushes ; here and there a few wild flowers lingered, 
and Claudia picked quite a summer-looking bou- 
quet. The Point was a narrow spit of land crowned 
with a cairn, and here the young people climbed 
to get the view over the western sea. 

“I believe all here under the water is the lost 
land of Lyonesse!” said Lorraine. “In King 
Arthur’s days it was a prosperous place with corn- 
fields and villages, and then the sea came and 
swallowed it all up. Fishermen say there’s a castle 
and a church under the waves still, and that some- 
times they can hear the bells ringing, but of course 
that’s just imagination.” 

“Perhaps the mermaids live there!” laughed 
Claudia. 

“You’d better send Lilith to look!” 

“ I say,” said Morland, “ there’s a sort of a path 
down here. Are you game to come and explore?” 

“ Of course we are! It will be topping down on 
those sands. Leave your flowers here, Claudia; 
you can get them when we come back.” 

The path down to the sands was a scramble, 
but not particularly difficult for agile young limbs. 
It led them on to a belt of rocks, where ghost- 
like little fishes were darting across silvery pools, 
and small crabs were scuttling among tangled 
masses of sodden, salt-scented sea-weed, and sea- 
anemones spread scarlet tentacles in the clear 

(C967) 6 


82 Head Girl at The Gables 

water. The wall-like, reddish-brown cliff rose 
almost sheer above, with gulls and puffins and 
guillemots and cormorants perched on its rugged 
crags, or rising to circle screaming in the air. 

“ Looks like the entrance to a cave over there!” 
said Morland. “ Bet you six cigarettes to six 
chocolates I’m right!” 

“You oughtn’t to bet, you naughty boy!” re- 
turned Claudia. “ Besides, we can’t get any cho- 
colates nowadays. We’ll go and see, though, if 
it really is a cave. I love exploring.” 

To reach the place Morland had pointed out, 
they were obliged to struggle through jungles of 
brown sea-weed, and to slip down little precipices 
slimy with green sea-grass, and to scramble over 
rough projecting points of rock, honey-combed 
into queer shapes by the action of the tide. A 
jump across a crevice and a climb up a few feet of 
sheer precipice landed them at the entrance of the 
cave. Morland scrambled in front, and gave a 
hand to the others. 

They found themselves in a large, rounded grotto, 
the walls of which shelved gently in a series of 
natural ledges; the floor was dry, and covered 
with fine silvery sand, and at the far end lay a pile 
of timber, washed in perhaps from some wreck by 
an abnormally high tide. The afternoon sun shone 
through the entrance and gleamed on little bits of 
mica and spar in the walls, making them glitter 
like diamonds. 

“What an adorable place!” exclaimed Claudia 
with enthusiasm. 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 83 

“Topping!*’ agreed Morlarid, 

“A regular sea-nymphs’ grotto!” exulted Lor- 
raine, and Landry, who was not given tu words, 
smiled, and pulling out a piece of timber sat down 
upon it. 

“A good idea!” said Lorraine, following suit. 
“Look here. I’ve just had a brain wave. Let’s 
appropriate the cave, and call it ours. Except 
just in the August holidays, I don’t suppose any- 
body ever comes here, so we should have it quite 
to ourselves. It shall be a real sea-nymphs’ grotto. 
We’ll get shells from the shore, and make lovely 
patterns with them all along those ledges, and 
hang sea-weeds about, and make some seats with 
those pieces of wood, and we’ll come out here on 
Saturdays sometimes, and bring our lunch. What 
voter?” 

“Ai! I’m your man, or rather your merman!” 
grinned Morland. “ Any good recipe for growing 
a fish’s tail, please? A diet of whelks and winkles 
not welcome, for my digestion’s delicate.” 

“It’s a chubby idea!” beamed Claudia. “I’d 
love it, only I do bargain we keep it to ourselves. 
I don’t want the whole tribe trailing after us every 
time we come. The little ones mustn’t know any- 
thing about it.” 

“/shan’t tell them, you bet!” declared Morland. 

“ It isn’t a suitable place to bring children,” 
agreed Lorraine. “ I won’t say anything to 
Monica, or even to Mervyn, because he’d be sure 
to blurt it out to her. It shall be just our own 
secret.” 


84 Head Girl at The Gables 

expect it has been a sort of secret place, 
said Mor and. “Those ledges look literally made 
for smugglers. No doubt they kept kegs of brandy 
there, and chests of tea, and bales of silk and lace 
in the good old days.” 

“Why shouldn’t we keep a few things here?” 
suggested Claudia. “A kettle, and a tin of cocoa 
and milk, and some matches, and a box of biscuits. 
Then we could light a fire and have a little feast 
any time when we came.” 

“ A ripping notion. I’ll make a sort of cupboard 
with some of that wood to keep the things in. We’ll 
bring cups and saucers as well as a kettle.” 

“ And a frying pan in case we catch flukes down 
in the pools,” put in Lorraine eagerly. 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Morland, quite 
roused to enthusiasm. “ I’ll come over on Monday 
and bring a saw with me, and a hammer and nails, 
and see what I can knock together in the shape of 
a cupboard and seats. Then next Saturday we’ll 
tramp over and have our picnic.” 

“ Splendiferous!” 

“ We’ll have to come in the morning, because of 
the tide.” 

“ Right you are! I guess we’d better be getting 
back now. I haven’t grown my merman’s tail 
enough yet to swim with, and I’ve no wish to 
stop here all night.” 

Morland kept his word, and went on Monday to 
the cave, armed with various useful tools. He 
could work well enough at anything that took 
his fancy, and, though he never knocked in a 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 85 

nail at home, he toiled here in a way that would 
have amazed his family if they could have seen 
him. Landry went also, and helped in a fashion. 
He could not do much, but he held pieces of 
wood steady while his brother hammered, and he 
collected whole pocketfuls of shells from the beach. 

Morland whistled cheerily as he worked. He 
wanted to give the girls a surprise, and, as they 
were busy at school all the week, he had the 
field to himself until Saturday. His artistic tem- 
perament found scope in the decoration of the 
cavern ; fresh ideas kept occurring to him, and 
he enjoyed carrying them out. He felt like a 
kind of combination of Robinson Crusoe and the 
pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, with a spice of poetry 
running through it all. 

Next Saturday Lorraine, having obtained per- 
mission from her mother to go to a picnic with 
the Castletons, started off, basket in hand, resist- 
ing the agonized entreaties of Monica, who im- 
plored to be allowed to accompany her. 

‘‘Sorry I can’t take you to-day. Cuckoo! But 
you see they didn’t ask you — only me. Beata 
and Romola aren’t going either.” 

“ But why shouldn’t we all go, and Madox 
too?” wailed Monica the spoilt. 

“It’s too far. Look here. I’ll ask Mother to 
let you have some of the Castleton children to tea 
one day. Would that content you?” 

“ Ye — es!” conceded Monica doubtfully. “ But 
it doesn’t make up for this morning. I think you’re 
ever so mean, Lorraine!” 


86 


Head Girl at The Gables 

“ Poor old Cuckoo! But you know you couldn’t 
really have come in any case, for you’re to be at the 
dentist’s by eleven.” 

“Strafe the old dentist! I wish he were at the 
bottom of the sea!” declared the youngest of the 
Forrester family, with temper. 

Lorraine ran away at last, and pelted up the hill 
to the Castletons’ house, meeting Morland, Claudia, 
and Landry in the lane, whither they had fled to 
avoid a contingent of younger ones. They were 
laden with a cargo of miscellaneous articles — a 
kettle, a pan, some plates, and various tins. 

“ It’s like a young removal,” said Claudia. . 

“ Or emigrating to the wilds of Canada,” laughed 
Lorraine. “ I’ve brought an enamelled mug, be- 
cause it doesn’t break like a teacup, and a little old 
Britannia metal teapot that I prigged from the 
attic. It was only going to be sent to a rummage 
sale, so we may just as well have it.” 

“ Do mermaids drink tea, please?” 

“No doubt they do when they can get it. Per- 
haps the smugglers taught them how.” 

Morland had intended to give the girls a surprise, 
and when they entered the grotto their amazement 
quite came up to his expectations. The cave 
seemed truly transformed into a sea-nymphs’ palace. 
Landry had worked untiringly all the week picking 
up shells, and these were arranged in patterns, 
with long pieces of sea-weed draped artistically 
here and there. Fragments of wreckage had 
been neatly sawn and nailed together to form a 
cupboard, a table, and some seats, and just in- 


The Sea-nymphs’ Grotto 87 

side the entrance, in white pebbles, was the word 
“ Welcome’’. 

Landry, in his own way as pleased as his brother, 
stood beaming. Morland, though inwardly proud, 
affected nonchalance. 

“Couldn’t make it look much, of course,” he 
apologized. 

“Much? Why, it’s topping!” 

“It’s like a fairy-tale! However did you find 
time to do all this?” 

“ Oh ! I just worked a bit,” murmured Morland 
modestly. 

The first picnic in the grotto was a huge success. 
To be sure the table was unsteady, and had a de- 
cided lop to one end, and the benches felt slightly 
insecure, but the girls said that added an element 
of adventure, for you never knew when you 
might be suddenly precipitated on to the floor. 
They put the cocoa, biscuits, and matches in tins, 
and stowed them away inside the new cupboard 
which Morland had placed in an angle of the rocky 
shelf, then, fearing that the rising tide would cover 
the shore below and cut off their retreat, they bade 
a regretful farewell to all their arrangements, 
promising themselves the pleasure of coming often 
again. 

It seemed too early to go straight home, so they 
spent the afternoon rambling about the cliffs, 
watching the sea-birds or the waves that were 
dashing below. Time flew apace, and when they 
came down the hill again from Tangy Point the 
sky was golden with sunset. The warm evening 


88 Head Girl at The Gables 

light flooded the common, where brown bracken 
grew like a forest, and goldfinches * flitted about 
among a grove of thistles. Lorraine, who had an 
eye for colour, picked a large wand-like sheaf of 
yellow ragwort, and, holding it over her shoulder, 
trudged through the thistles, sending showers of 
down to float in the breeze, and dispersing the 
goldfinches from their feast. With her eyes on 
the horizon instead of on the ground in front, she* 
nearly walked into an easel that was stationed 
among the bracken. Its owner sprang up to save 
it, and Lorraine, stopping just in time, paused with 
her russet dress and flying brown hair a dark mass 
against the gold of the sky and the thistle-down 
background. There was a second of silence as a 
pair of clear hazel eyes grasped the picturesque 
impression and registered it; then a mellow voice 
murmured: “Kilmeny!” 


CHAPTER VII 


Kilmeny 

“I’m dreadfully sorry apologized Lorraine. 

“ It doesn’t matter at all. You did no damage.” 

“ But I nearly knocked over your picture!” 

“ A miss is as good as a mile I” 

“ Why, it’s Miss Lindsay!” exclaimed Claudia, 
coming up. “ I thought you were still in Scot- 
land.” 

“ I’ve been back a week and am quite settled 
down again at Porthkeverne, and hope to stay here 
all the winter. Tell your father I’m coming up 
to see his pictures one day. I hear he’s painting 
in pastel now. I’ve been going in for tempera. 
How are the babies? And Madox? He’s a special 
friend of mine. I’ve brought them a box of real 
shortbread from Edinburgh. Yes, I’m making a 
sketch of this piece of the common. It appeals 
to me in the sunset.” 

“ What a charming lady! Who is she?” whis- 
pered Lorraine as their party passed on. 

“She’s an artist — Miss Lindsay. We knew her 
in London, and it was she who advised Father to 
come and live at Porthkeverne. I’m glad she did, 
for we all like it just heaps better than Kensington.” 

“ Does she live here?” 

89 


90 


Head Girl at The Gables 

“She has rooms in the town and a studio down 
by the harbour, but she goes about to a great 
many places sketching. You’d love her pictures.” 

“ I wish I could see them.” 

“ Perhaps she’d let me take you some day to her 
studio.” 

“Oh! do you think she really would? Do you 
know I’ve never been inside a studio!” 

Claudia laughed. 

“You wouldn’t want to if you’d had to sit as a 
model as often as I have! Would she, Morland?” 

“ Rather not. As a family I reckon we’re fed 
up with studios,” returned Morland. “Thank 
goodness I’m beyond the ‘ Bubbles’ stage of 
beauty. It’s Madox’s turn for that!” 

“ Don’t congratulate yourself too soon. I heard 
Father say the other day that you’d make an abso- 
lutely perfect study for ‘Sir Galahad’, and that 
Violet must tell Lizzie to clean that suit of armour, 
for he meant to begin it as soon as he’d finished 
‘ Endymion’.” 

“Oh, strafe Sir Galahad!” groaned Morland. 
“The armour’s the most beastly uncomfortable 
hot stuff to wear you can imagine. I wish I had 
a turned-up nose and freckles.” 

Lorraine, living in a modern unromantic house 
in the residents’ suburbs of Porthkeverne, had 
hitherto had little or no acquaintance with the 
artist population of the town. They mostly lived 
in the old quarter, and had studios close to the 
harbour, their colony being centred round the Arts 
Club in the Guildhall. She had often watched 


Kilmeny 91 

them painting at their easels in the narrow pic- 
turesque streets, and had longed for a more inti- 
mate acquaintance. Their delightful Bohemian way 
of life had a fascination for her. She sometimes 
wished her father were an artist instead of a lawyer. 
It was so much more romantic to paint pictures 
than to make people’s wills or transfer their pro- 
perty. 

‘‘Dad’s utterly practical,” she confided to Claudia. 
“ He’s busy all day at the office, and he prides 
himself on not being sentimental. He’s about as 
artistic as that cow!” 

“I’d swop dads with you,” said Claudia. “I 
wish mine went to an office every day instead of 
to his studio.” 

“ You won’t forget about Miss Lindsay?” 

“ No, I’ll try to take you, if you’re really so keen 
about going.” 

Claudia was as good as her word, and one day 
came to school armed with a special invitation for 
herself and Lorraine. The latter, much excited, 
begged permission at home to accept. 

“ I think she’s lovely, Mummie! Miss Lindsay, 
I mean. And I’ve never seen a studio, and Claudia 
says I’ll adore her pictures, so you will let me go, 
won’t you?” 

“ If it won’t interfere with your home lessons and 
practising. It’s extremely kind of her to ask you. 
I’m sure.” 

“I’ll just swat at my lessons when I get back, to 
make up, and I’ll do my practising before break- 
fast.” 


92 


Head Girl at The Gables 


‘‘Very well, but don’t stay later than half-past 
five. The evenings are beginning to get dark so 
soon now.” 

“Oh, thanks most immensely!” 

To Lorraine, brought up in a little world consist- 
ing mostly of her own family and a circle of cousins, 
it was really quite an event to pay this visit into 
the terra incognita of the Art Colony. She came 
to school in her best dress that afternoon, with the 
chain of amber beads that Donald had sent her 
from Italy. They were at present the only artistic 
things she possessed, and therefore the most suit- 
able for the occasion. 

She and Claudia hurried away as speedily as 
possible after four o’clock, and were soon tramping 
down the hill from The Gables and treading the 
narrow, quaint streets that led towards the sea. 
The harbour at Porthkeverne was a picturesque 
place that had figured over and over again on the 
walls of the Academy. Its green waters this after- 
noon sheltered a fleet of red-sailed fishing-boats, 
whose owners were busy making ready to put out 
into the bay. Over the beach and round about the 
breakwater flew hundreds of sea-birds, flapping in 
and out of the water, and pecking among the sea- 
weed on the rocks. Some venturesome urchins, 
scrambling after crabs, screamed almost as lustily 
as the gulls. 

Along the quay, behind the barrels and upturned 
boats and baskets and old timber, was a row of 
irregular buildings that had once served as sail- 
makers’ warehouses or boat builders’ workshops. 


Kilmeny 93 

The artistic colony had joyfully seized upon these, 
and had turned them from their original use into a 
set of studios. Large glass windows fronted the 
bay, and twisting flights of steps and painted rail- 
ings led up to the doors on which were brass plates 
with names well known both in London and pro- 
vincial exhibitions. 

Claudia led the way along the quay, crossing 
the gangway where the little river flowed down, 
and passing the “ Sailors* Rest” where a few blue- 
jacketed old salts were reading the newspapers, 
then stopped at a particular flight of wooden steps 
that were painted pale sea-green. Up these she 
ran, and tapped at a half-open door. 

“ Come in !” said a voice, and the girls entered. 

To Lorraine it was like a sudden peep into fairy- 
land. The rough wooden walls of the studio had 
been covered with a soft brown embossed paper, 
that served as a background for sketches, framed 
and unframed, which were hung there. Pieces of 
tapestry and oriental curtains were draped between, 
and large blue-and-white willow-pattern plates 
made a frieze above. A rare walnut cabinet, a 
Japanese screen, a gate-legged table, some Chip- 
pendale chairs, and a carved oak cupboard composed 
the furniture of the room; and there were scattered 
about a large number of artistic “properties” — 
bright scarves, shells, beads, pottery, vases, pewter, 
and standing on the floor a huge brass jar filled 
with branches of flaming autumn leaves. 

From the low arm-chair by the fire-place rose 
Miss Lindsay, a fitting centre for her beautiful 


94 


Head Girl at The Gables 

surroundings. She was one of those people who 
seem neither old nor young, for her intense per- 
sonality quite overmastered any ravages time might 
have made in her appearance. The passing years, 
while they had brought a grey thread or two among 
the brown of the hair, had mellowed her expression; 
and the shining hazel eyes seemed as the windows 
of a soul behind, noble, tender, and full of sym- 
pathy. They were merry eyes, too, and they 
danced as their owner welcomed her guests. 

‘‘ I’ve been expecting you, and the kettle’s boil- 
ing! Sit here, Claudia, and you here, Kilmeny! 
Lorraine is her name? Never mind, I shall call 
her what I like. I hope you’re fond of potato 
cake? And shortbread? It’s the real kind from 
Edinburgh. You’d rather begin with plain bread 
and butter? What well brought-up girls!” 

Seated on a round, silk cushion-footstool by the 
cheery wood fire, drinking tea from a cup covered 
with little pink roses, with the scent of late carna- 
tions wafted from a vase on the table, and her elbow 
almost touching the delicate blue-green velvet of 
Miss Lindsay’s artistic dress, Lorraine looked round 
the studio, fascinated. She thought she had never 
seen such a delightful place. It appealed intensely 
to her romantic side, and with its bright draperies 
and cosy corners seemed like the opening scene 
of a novel. She was glad that the tea gave her 
some excuse for silence. She was too much in- 
terested in gazing about to find words for conver- 
sation. 

Their hostess, wise in her generation, left her to 


Kilmeny 95 

herself until potato cakes and Scotch shortbread 
should thaw the ice and loose her tongue, and 
meantime discussed mutual friends with Claudia. 

‘‘We mustn’t waste the precious daylight if you 
really want to see my pictures,” she said after a 
while. “Come to the window and sit here on 
these chairs, and I’ll put the sketches on the easel. 
They are a series I’m doing for a children’s magazine 
in America. They’re to be reproduced in colour.” 

Miss Lindsay’s sketches were charming, and full 
of a quaint fancy. They were rendered in a medium 
of her own invention, a combination of pencil, 
paint, and crayon, which gave the soft effect of 
a pastel with the permanence of a water-colour. 
The first depicted a nurse holding by the hand a 
tiny child, who turned with wondering eyes' to 
look at delicate little fairies which the grown-up 
person evidently did not see. In another a little 
boy sat in the forest playing with butterfly-winged 
elves who danced among the bright scarlet toad- 
stools. A third showed a brownie in a tree-top, 
nestling by the side of a baby owl, and a fourth 
the pixies sporting under a starlit sky. There were 
many others, dainty, imaginative and ethereal, 
some illustrating poems or books, and some telling 
their own story, all painted with the same clever 
touch and light, brilliant colouring. 

“These are my favourites, so I’ve shown them 
first, while the light lasts,” said Miss Lindsay, 
“ but I’ve heaps of other studies, landscapes mostly, 
sketches of Scotland I took this summer. I’ll go 
on putting them on the easel, and when you’re 


96 Head Girl at The Gables 

really bored stiff you must cry mercy, and I’ll 
stop.” 

“Bored!” said Lorraine, with a sigh of intense 
satisfaction, “they’re too lovely for anything! I’d 
give the world if I could paint like that!” 

So they looked through piles of fascinating 
sketches till the short daylight had faded, and the 
logs on the fire began to throw queer shadows 
round the studio. 

“We must go!” said Claudia at last. “I’Ve 
some shopping to do for Violet on my way back, 
and she’ll be raggy if I don’t turn up soon. I 
rather believe the things are wanted for supper,” 
she added casually. 

“Then you must hurry,” smiled Miss Lindsay, 
who was well acquainted with the Bohemian \^ays 
of the Castleton family. “Even artists don’t like 
to be kept waiting for their meals, however absorbed 
they get in their pictures.” Then, turning to 
Lorraine, “I’m going to ask you to do something 
for me, Kilmeny. Will you come to the common 
with me one day this week at sunset, in the same 
brown dress you wore last Saturday, and let me 
sketch you among the thistles and bracken?” 

Lorraine flushed with pleasure. She had never 
stood as model in her life, and, though the ex- 
perience might be stale and wearisome to Claudia, 
to her it had all the charm of novelty. 

“ Of course I will. Would you like me to r ^me 
to-morrow?” she murmured delightedly. “And — 
I hope you don’t mind my asking — but I should 
like to know why you call me ‘ Kilmeny’?” 


Kilmeny 97 

Because you looked Kilmeny. Don’t you know 
the poem? She was stolen away by the fairies, 
and brought up in the place that George Macdonald 
calls At the Back of the North Wind, Then: 

‘ When seven long years were gone and fled, 

W’hen grief was forgotten and hope was dead, 

And scarce was remembered Kilmeny’s name : 

Late, late in the gloaming Kilmeny home came \ 

Well, you see, I’m going to paint you just coming 
home, in the evening glow with the yellow light 
behind, and the thistles and brown bracken. The 
sheaf of golden ragwort will be like a wand, and 
you’ll still have the spell of fairyland in your face. 
I’m not sure if I shan’t put in a few half-transparent 
fairies escorting you back; they’d blend among the 
thistledown. I can see it all in my mind’s eye, if 
I can only manage to paint it. You’ll be sure to 
come in the brown dress?” 

^‘Of course I will, though it’s a terribly old one 
I keep for scramble walks.” 

That doesn’t matter in the least. It’s the colour 
I want. The whole scheme was a harmony in 
brown.” 

Lorraine went twice to stand for Miss Lindsay 
on the common, and several times afterwards to 
her studio to be sketched with more detail. Her 
new friend made three or four separate studies for 
the picture, intending to work from them after- 
wards in oils. 

“I’ve sent for quite a decent-sized canvas,” she 
said. “And I’m going to try one or two experi- 

( C 975 ) 7 


98 Head Girl at The Gables 

ments. I’m not often pleased with my own work, 
but I like these studies, and feel inspired to do 
a three by two-and-a-half. Kilmeny, I believe 
you’re going to prove my mascot!” 

When Lorraine tried to analyse afterwards why 
she had at once taken such an extreme liking for 
Miss Lindsay, she decided that the attraction lay 
in her voice. On some sensitive temperaments 
the quality of a voice has as much effect as personal 
beauty. A rasping, sharp, fretful or uncompro- 
mising tone may be as disagreeable as a wrong 
accent, but the harps of our spirits, finely and 
delicately strung, vibrate and thrill to kindly, 
cheerfully spoken words. The friendship between 
the two progressed apace. Mrs. Forrester, finding 
that Lorraine showed such a suddenly awakened 
interest in art, arranged for her to take a course 
of painting lessons from Miss Lindsay, and she 
trotted off every Saturday morning to the studio 
by the harbour. 

The drawing classes at The Gables had been the 
only weak spot in an otherwise excellent scheme of 
education, so Lorraine simply revelled in her new 
lessons. She had genuine talent, and was quick 
in catching up ideas. The artistic atmosphere ex- 
actly suited her. So far she had lacked inspiration 
in her life. She had never been able to feel the 
enthusiasm which Rosemary threw into music, and 
though she worked steadily at school, the prospect 
of college, dangled sometimes by Miss Kingsley, 
rather repelled than tempted her. She had drifted 
aimlessly along, without any specially strong tastes 


Kilmeny 99 

or ambitions, till this fresh, wonderful, fascinating 
world of art suddenly rose up and claimed her for 
its own. It was a delirious sensation, and very 
stimulating. She could sympathize now with Rose- 
mary’s keenness for the College of Music. Perhaps 
— who knew? — some day she might prevail on 
Father to let her go away to London and study 
painting. The bigness of such a prospect took 
her breath away. 

There could not have been a better pilot in these 
untried waters than Margaret Lindsay. She proved 
a veritable fairy godmother, not in painting alone, 
but in other matters as well. Lorraine had reached 
that stage of girlhood when she badly needed a new 
impulse and a different mental atmosphere. It is 
so difficult sometimes for parents to realize that 
their children are growing up, and require treating 
from a revised standpoint. Unconsciously, and out 
of sheer custom, they rule them de haut en bas^ 
and then wonder why tlie little confidences of the 
budding womanhood are given instead to sisters 
or friends. 

Though she was old enough in some ways, in 
others Miss Lindsay was that most delightful of 
persons, ‘‘ a chronic child ”. On occasion she could 
seem as young as, or even younger than, Lorraine, 
and enjoyed herself like a veritable schoolgirl. 
The two had royal times together, painting in the 
studio, making tea by the wood fire, rambling on 
the cliffs, or wandering through the picturesque 
fishermen’s quarter of the town, a hitherto almost 
unexplored territory to Lorraine. Under her 


100 


Head Girl at the Gables 


friend’s leadership she began to take up various 
side branches of art; she dabbled in gesso, relief 
stamping, leather embossing, stencilling and il- 
luminating. New visions of birthday presents 
dawned on her horizon, and she intended to as- 
tonish the family at Christmas. Her only regret 
was the very scant time which she had to devote 
to these delightful occupations. Her position as 
head girl at The Gables permitted no slacking 
in the way of lessons, and her mother had made 
an express proviso that her work at the studio 
must not be allowed to interfere with her school 
preparation. 

“Lucky you!” wrote Lorraine to Rosemary. 
“You’re able to spend your whole day over the 
thing you love best. If I’d my choice, I’d never 
look at maths, or chemistry again, I’d just paint, 
paint, paint, from morning till night I” 


CHAPTER VIII 

Vivien Makes Terms 

Mr. Georgy Forrester and Mr. Barton Forrester 
were brothers, and partners in the old-established 
firm of solicitors, Deane and Forrester. The Bar- 
ton Forresters lived at the opposite side of Porth- 
keverne, on the road to St. Cyr, in an old-fashioned 
red brick Queen Anne house named The Firs, with 
a Greek portico and iron balconies outside the 
windows. The George Forresters always decided 
that the house was the exact epitome of Aunt 
Carrie. It was stately, and stood on its dignity, 
making you feel that it had a position to keep 
up, and extended hospitality as in duty bound, 
but with no special enthusiasm. Houses are 
largely a reflection of their owners, and five 
minutes in a drawing-room will often suffice to 
give you the correct mental atmosphere of a family. 
If the picturesque general disorder of Windy Howe 
suggested art run riot, the well-kept but tasteless 
precision of The Firs expressed a totally opposite 
temperament. No one could accuse Aunt Carrie 
of being artistic: her rooms were handsome and 
spotlessly neat, but they gave you the sense of 
being furnished, not arranged, and their lack of 

beauty struck a chill to aesthetic souls. 

101 


102 


Head Girl at The Gables 

Aunt Carrie herself was big, and bustling, and 
overbearing, with well-cut features, a high colour, 
and a determined voice. She is described first, 
because she was so decidedly the head of the family. 
Uncle Barton only came in second. He was a 
gentle, pleasant little man, with kindly wrinkles 
round his eyes, and a habit of whistling under 
his breath when things grew stormy at home. In 
early days of matrimony he made a struggle for 
his own way, but abandoned it later in favour of 
a peace-at-any-price policy. He was a town coun- 
cillor, and vicar’s warden at the parish church, 
as well as a special constable. In his spare time 
he lived for golf. Lindon, his only son, was ex- 
actly like him, even to the habit of whistling and 
the propensity for golf. With Lindon, however, 
shells at the present were doing the whistling, and 
the trenches took the place of bunkers. His photo- 
graph in khaki stood in a silver frame on the 
drawing-room mantelpiece. 

The three girls — Elsie, Betty, and Vivien — were 
shaded varieties of their mother. When Lorraine 
counted up her blessings, she always placed Rose- 
mary and Monica as special items. She did not 
get on with her cousins. 

“ I like Uncle Barton and Lindon,” she decided. 
“You never hear them say a nasty thing about 
anybody. It’s the girls who pick holes in every- 
one and everything.” 

The attitude of the female portion of the family 
at The Firs was fiercely critical. It might be 
amusing to themselves, but it was uncomfortable 


Vivien Makes Terms 103 

for other people. Lorraine, visiting there in a new 
dress, literally squirmed when she felt eyes of in- 
spection directed upon it. It was the same with 
accomplishments. Both she and Rosemary dreaded 
to play or sing at The Firs. The chilly “Thank 
you!” at the end of the performance hurt more 
than brickbats. The Barton Forresters were always 
urging on the George Forresters. They started on 
the assumption that, as a family, they were more 
clever, capable, and up-to-date, and therefore in 
a position to give good advice. Elsie, recently 
engaged to a naval officer, considered that she had 
scored over Rosemary, who was six months older 
and still unappropriated. Betty rubbed in her in- 
dispensable work at the Red Cross Hospital with 
comments on those slackers who shirked giving 
their fair share of help. Vivien’s sharp tongue 
was Lorraine’s chief thorn in the flesh at The 
Gables. 

The fact that Vivien was her cousin made things 
extremely difficult for Lorraine. She could have 
done battle royal with a stranger, and fought things 
out in the lists at school and have finished with 
them. But to quarrel with Vivien was another 
matter. It meant also quarrelling with Aunt 
Carrie, Elsie, and Betty, who would take affairs 
to the tribunal of Pendlehurst and raise a domestic 
sandstorm. 

Long before, when they were quite children, the 
two girls had quarrelled, and Aunt Carrie had sol- 
emnly, and quite unjustifiably, complained to her 
brother-in-law about Lorraine’s conduct. Lorraine 


104 Head Girl at The Gables 

had never forgiven her father for not taking 
her part more firmly on that occasion. The re- 
membrance of the ready ear he had lent to the 
enemy’s side of the question had prevented any 
future appeal to intervention. Matters with Vivien 
went on in a species of guerrilla warfare. 

As head girl, Lorraine had, of course, the whip 
hand at The Gables, but in every fresh scheme she 
found her cousin a dead weight and an impediment. 
Vivien always suggested something different. At 
committee meetings she invariably started an op- 
position to every resolution. Nothing could be 
carried without bickering. In her capacity of moni- 
tress Vivien was not a favourite. She was far too 
high-handed and domineering to win any measure 
of popularity among the juniors. Surging discon- 
tent sometimes broke out into rebellion. It is a 
delicate task for a general whose aide-de-camp is 
too officious. Lorraine, with a feeling that she was 
treading on eggs, brought up the subject of dis- 
cipline at the next committee meeting. 

“We must see that rules are kept, naturally,” 
she conceded, “but I think perhaps lately some of 
us have just a little exceeded our authority. We 
don’t want to get snubbed by Miss Kingsley, and 
told to mind our own business!” 

“If you mean me,” retorted Vivien, “I wish 
you’d say so straight out and have done with it! 
I hate innuendoes. I consider that the kids want 
keeping in order, and I’m there to do it, whether 
they like it or whether they don’t.” 

“We must, of course, keep order; but if we can 


Vivien Makes Terms 


>05 


do it pleasantly, it makes a far nicer feeling in the 
school. Some of those babes will do anything for 
a monitress they like.” 

‘‘Oh, it’s all very well to go about fishing for 
popularity, like some people we know!” 

“ I suppose you mean meV" said Patsie quickly. 

“ If the cap fits, put it on.” 

Nellie and Claire began to giggle at the prospect 
of a spar between Patsie and Vivien. Dorothy was 
fiddling with her pencil and frowning. 

“ I don’t let the kiddies take liberties with me,” 
she vouchsafed; “yet they escort me home in 
relays every day.” 

“A monitress ought surely to be likedV said 
Audrey plaintively. 

“ What I feel is, that we ought to work more in 
harmony,” explained Lorraine. “ It doesn’t do for 
one monitress to allow a thing, and another to for- 
bid it. The juniors don’t know where they are.” 

“Yes, we can’t each run the show on our own,” 
agreed Patsie. 

“Couldn’t we draw up a sort of general list to 
go upon?” 

“ A black-list?” 

“ Well, I mean some general guiding rules.” 

“It’s quite unnecessary,” demurred Vivien. 
“My advice is to keep the kids in their places, 
and there’ll be no more bother with them. It’s 
that sloppy sentimental truckling to them that’s 
at the bottom of all the trouble. I’ve got to go 
home now. You may make any rules you like, 
but I shan’t promise to keep them.” 


io6 Head Girl at The Gables 


Vivien scraped back her chair and clumped 
noisily from the room, leaving the majority of the 
committee indignant. They consulted together, 
and by general consent drew up a short code for 
the use of monitresses. They handed a copy of 
it to Vivien next morning. She glanced at it 
casually, and flung it into the waste-paper basket. 

I’m a monitress as much as the rest of you,” 
she remarked, ‘‘and I have my authority from 
Miss Kingsley. I can’t see that I’m answerable 
to anyone else.” 

Among the juniors, Vivien’s reputation was not 
pleasant. Naturally, they talked over the moni- 
tresses among themselves. Juniors are sharp-eyed 
little mortals, and they had a very good idea of 
how matters stood. 

“Vivien loves to boss,” said Nan Carson. 
“She’s wild because she’s not head, and she takes 
it out of us in exchange.” 

“ I don’t see why she should order us about so.” 

“ She’s not a mistress!” 

“ No, only a monitress.” 

“ It’s not fair.” 

“ I shall tell her so, some day.” 

“She’s a mean old thing!” 

“ Why should we obey her?” 

So matters jogged along till one day they reached 
a crisis. Vivien happened to be passing the door 
of Form II at about ten minutes to nine. It was, 
of course, before the official school hour, and Miss 
Poole had not yet entered to take the call-over. 
Some of the children were getting out books, some 


Vivien Makes Terms 


107 


were making a last effort to learn lessons, and a few 
were talking, laughing, and throwing paper pellets 
at one another. They were not making very much 
noise, and most monitresses would have just walked 
past the door and taken no notice. Not so Vivien. 
She bustled in, and commanded order. 

Marjorie, sit down! Connie, shut your desk! 
Doris, stop talking! Effie, pick up those pieces 
of paper at once! You ought all to be quietly in 
your places.’^ 

“ It’s only ten minutes to nine,” grumbled the 
girls. 

“ I don’t care what time it is. If you’re here at 
half-past eight you’ll have to behave yourselves. 
I shall come in again in a few minutes, and if 
any girl is talking I shall put her name down.” 

Vivien stalked away, leaving mutiny behind her. 

“ No one’s ever told us before that we weren’t to 
talk before Miss Poole came into the room.” 

“ It’s absurd nonsense!” 

Everybody talks before nine!” 

“You bet Vivien does herself !” 

“ I’m not going to sit still,” piped Effie. 

“ Remember Vivien’s coming back,” warned 
Marjorie. 

“She won’t come back for a few minutes!” 
grinned Effie, hopping between the desks, “and 
I don’t care if she does, either! I’m not afraid 
of Vivien! She may jaw away as much as she 
likes. It amuses her, and it doesn’t hurt me. So 
•there we are. See?” 

Some of the girls sniggered, and Effie, en- 


io8 Head Girl at The Gables 


couraged by popular approbation, waxed more 
reckless still. She danced to the blackboard, 
seized the chalk, and began to draw. 

“Here’s Vivien’s portrait,” she announced. 
“This is her long nose, and this is her mouth, 
and this is her hair.” 

“ Oh, it ts like her!” chirruped Gracie. 

“The very image!” hinnied Doris. 

“Shut up, Effie, and rub it off, you silly cock- 
chafer,” recommended Marjorie, giggling in spite 
of herself. 

“No, no! I haven’t finished. I mu.st put her 
blouse and swanky tie. Wait a sec. I” cried the 
artist, drawing in those details and adding a large 
balloon issuing from the mouth of her model, and 
containing the words: “ No talking, girls!” 

“You’ll be caught,” urged Marjorie, seizing the 
duster to clean the blackboard. Efhe snatched it 
out of her hand. 

“All right, Grannie. Half a sec. more! I’ve 
just time!” 

And she scrawled hastily over the top of the 
portrait: “This is old Vivien.” 

The last half second was the undoing of E0ie, 
for at that very same instant the monitress re- 
entered the room. Effie wiped the blackboard with 
frantic speed, but not before Vivien had caught a 
clear view of her portrait. She glared first at Effie, 
who had skipped back to her place, then at the nine 
other conscious faces. Finally she announced: 

“You’ll every one of you report yourselves to 
me at four o’clock this afternoon. I shall expect 


Vivien Makes Terms 


109 


you in the handicraft room, and you’ll each bring 
a poetry book with you. I shall stay here now 
until Miss Poole comes. I’m not going to have 
this form a bear-garden.” 

The mistress, entering almost immediately, 
looked rather astonished to see Vivien standing 
by her desk. Her enquiring glance asked an 
explanation. 

“ It was necessary for someone to come in here 
and keep order, Miss Poole,” vouchsafed Vivien. 

The mistress turned a reproachful eye on her 
flock. 

“ I thought I could have trusted you, girls! Tm 
sorry to hear you’ve not been behaving yourselves.” 

The form focused indignant glances at Vivien, 
but dared not utter a protest. Their wrath, over- 
flowed, however, at the earliest opportunity for 
conversation. 

“ Sneak !” 

“Tell-tale-tit!” 

“ Mean thing!” 

“And we’ve actually got to report ourselves to 
her at four o’clock.” 

“ It’s the limit!” 

Though the juniors might rage, the established 
tradition of The Gables compelled them to comply 
with the monitress’s orders. They grumbled, but 
obeyed. Directly afternoon school was over, ten 
sullen and sulky girls presented themselves at the 
door of the handicraft room. This was situated 
at the opposite end of the playground, and was, in 
fact, the old coach-house converted into a sort of 


no Head Girl at The Gabies 

joiner’s shop. The school, in relays, learned wood- 
carving here, and carpentry, and clay modelling, 
and any other crafts which made too much mess 
inside the form rooms or the gymnasium. 

Vivien was busy at the bench, planing a piece of 
wood. She greeted the victims grimly. 

“ If you can’t remember to behave yourselves in 
school, you’ll have to have something to remind 
you,” she remarked. “You may all sit down 
there. Have you brought your poetry books? 
Very well, turn to page sixteen and learn the first 
three verses of Lochinvar. You’ll stay here till 
you know them.” 

As a matter of fact, Vivien was entirely exceeding 
her authority. Miss Kingsley had never given the 
monitresses leave to keep girls in, or give them 
punishment lessons. Such privileges belonged to 
mistresses only. The form, however, was not 
aware of this, and supposed that she had received 
instructions from head-quarters. They took their 
places like martyrs, and opened their poetry books, 
outwardly submissive, but with black rebellion 
raging in their hearts. 

Vivien, going on with her carpentering, kept a 
strict eye upon them, and said “ Hush!” if any one 
attempted to con her task even in a whisper. She 
heard each child recite her verses separately, and 
would not let any of them go till all had said their 
portions perfectly. By the time they had com- 
pletely finished it was a quarter to five. 

“You may trot home now if you like,” allowed 
the monitress. “And just let this be a lesson to 


Vivien Makes Terms m 

you for the future. Go in order and close the door 
after you.” 

The martyrs made a decent exit, but once outside 
they stood and pulled faces at the closed door. 

“She’s an absolute beast!” 

“ It’s abominable!” 

“ To keep us all this time!” 

“ And learning hateful poetry!” 

“And we hadn’t done anything to deserve it, 
either!” 

“ What can we do to pay her out?” 

“ I know,” said Effie. “ Hush!” 

She held up a warning hand and ran back to the 
coach-house door. The key was on the outside, in 
the lock. She stood and listened for a moment, 
then turned it and fled across the playground, 
followed by the rest of the form. Instead of going 
home, however, they stayed in the cloak-room, 
giggling over their achievement. 

“ If she’s so fond of the handicraft room, she may 
stay there ! ” 

“ She shall just be kept in herself, to see what it 
feels like.” 

“ Won't she just be savage!” 

“Serve her right!” 

Vivien, having finished to her satisfaction the 
particular little bit of carpentering upon which 
she had been engagea, put away her tools at 
last, and turned to leave. She was very much 
surprised to find that she could not open the door. 
She rattled the handle, thinking it had stuck. 
Then she suddenly realized that it was locked. 


1 12 Head Girl at The Gables 

and that she was a prisoner. She hammered till 
her knuckles were sore, and shouted, but nobody 
came. It struck her that she was in an exceed- 
ingly awkward position. The handicraft room was 
some little distance from the house. It was im- 
probable that Miss Kingsley, Miss Janet or the 
maids would hear her. The window was nailed 
up, and would not open, so escape that way was 
impossible. Had those wretched juniors locked 
her in on purpose, and scooted off home? She 
stamped with wrath at the idea. Yet it seemed 
only too probable. If so, would she have to 
spend the night here? The prospect was appal- 
ling. She made a last despairing assault on the 
door. To her immense relief a voice on the other 
side responded. It was a deep, gruff, evidently 
feigned voice, and it said: 

“ Hullo, there!’* 

“ Hullo! Let me out!” shouted Vivien. 

“ No, thanks! You’re better where you are!” 

“ Let me out, I tell you!” 

“Gently! Gently! Don’t show temper!” 

Vivien seized the handle again, and rattled 
lustily, but with no effect. She thought she 
heard a noise like suppressed chuckling. 

“ Will you unlock this door and let me out?” 

“ If we do, will you promise not to boss so hard 
again?” 

“ I shan’t promise anything of the sort!” 

“Right oh! Ta-ta!” 

The little wretches surely were not going? 

“ Here! Come back!” Vivien shouted. 


Vivien Makes Terms 


J'3 

She was allowed a moment or two for reflection, 
then the gruff voice again began to parley. 

“ Will you promise?” 

“ I shall do my duty as a monitress.” 

“ But you won’t exceed it?” 

“ All right!” rather sulkily. 

‘‘ Honour bright, and no bunkum?” 

“ I’ve told you so.” 

The bottom of the door did not fit closely to the 
step, and presently through this small aperture the 
key was pushed. There was a sound of pelting 
footsteps. By the time Vivien had managed to 
unlock the door, nobody was in sight. She had 
the wisdom not to report the matter at head-quarters. 
She knew that she had exceeded her authority in 
keeping the children in, and doubted whether Miss 
Kingsley would back her up. It was too humiliat- 
ing an experience to relate to her fellow-monitresses, 
so she kept it to herself. She utterly ignored it 
when she met the members of Form II next morn- 
ing. Several of them blushed so consciously that 
she easily guessed who had been the ringleaders, 
but she judged it discreet to take no more notice. 
The sinners, giggling over the joke among them- 
selves, decided that they were now quits with 
Vivien. 


(C975) 


CHAPTER IX 


White Elephants 

It was Patsie’s stroke of genius that originated 
the White Elephant Sale. The school was racking 
its brains to raise a little money for the Prisoners 
of War Fund, and had swept aside as impossible 
such schemes as a bazaar, a pound day, or self- 
denial boxes. 

“lily tried it on last term, and it was no 
go,” said Vivien; “couldn’t make the kids shell 
out.” 

“Well, they are only kids,” qualified Nellie; 
“and, of course, they haven’t much pocket-money, 
so what can you expect?” 

“We mustn’t aim too high,” said Claire. “If 
we plan something too big we scare them, and 
they won’t do anything at all — say their mothers 
object, and all the rest of the usual excuses.” 

“Well, everyone is rather fed up with appeals,” 
admitted Audrey, lazily stretching her arms; “ they 
come in by the dozen with the morning’s post.” 

“And are generally chucked into the waste-paper 
basket,” commented Lorraine. “ That doesn’t help 
the prisoners of war. Suggestions, please, quick!” 

114 


White Elephants 115 

‘‘Best put an advertisement in the newspapers: 
‘ Wanted, a new way of raising money without tak- 
ing it out of the pockets of subscribers!’” chuckled 
Dorothy. 

“Look here!” said Lorraine. “Joking apart, I 
think everybody’s prepared either to give or spend 
just a little — even the kids. They’ve money enough 
for chalks, pencils, and all the rubbish they fill their 
pockets with.” 

“And swop in the cloak-room,” added Claudia. 

“ Yes, they do swop,” exclaimed Patsie. “ That’s 
exactly what they love beyond everything. Claudia 
Castleton, you’ve given me a brain wave! We’ll 
have a ‘ White Elephant ’ sale. Don’t look so 
staggered! A ‘white elephant’ is a thing you 
don’t want yourself, but which someone else might 
like very much. We must all of us have got heaps 
of such things at home. Well, we’ll bring them 
to school, and let them go as bargains — cheap. 
They ought to go like wildfire, and if there are 
any left, we’ll have an auction. It would be prime 
fun!” 

“ Patsie Sullivan, I should like to shake hands 
with you!” declared Lorraine. “When women 
go into Parliament, I believe you’ll become a dis- 
tinguished member of the House of Commons! 
Brains like yours ought to be devoted to the ser- 
vice of their country!” 

I think it is rather a ’cute idea,” admitted Patsie 
modestly. 

“ We’ll get to work upon it at once.” 

The next day, Lorraine pinned up in the cloak- 


ii6 Head Girl at The Gables 


room a large hand-printed poster which ran as 
follows: 

WHAT PRICE WHITE ELEPHANTS? 

Have you anything at Iiome you don’t want? 

Then bring it to the school and sell it ! 

Do you wish to buy nice things cheap? 

Come to our WHITE ELEPHANT SALE! 
Bargains will be flying ! 

You will go home all smiles! 

Remember, everything you buy helps to feed a British 
Prisoner of War ! 


“Flatter myself it’s rather telling!” she con- 
fessed, as she watched the juniors crowd round 
to look. “There’s nothing like a bargain to ap- 
peal to people ! ” 

“•I reckon it’s going to catch on!” chuckled 
Patsie. 

It did catch on. The juniors decided that the 
idea was “topping”, and readily promised con- 
tributions. 

“We shall want cash too,” Lorraine reminded 
them. “ Remember, you’ve to buy somebody 
else’s things as well as give your own.” 

“Right you are! We’ll make a half-crown 
league, if you like.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that! It might be rough 
on some of the kids. Give what you can, that’s 
all.” 

The next step in the proceedings was to hunt 
at home for white elephants. Lorraine and Monica 


White Elephants u; 

turned out drawers and cupboards in search of 
any articles with which they could dispense. 

It’s not a rummage sale, so we mustn’t send 
rubbish,” decreed Lorraine. “ It’s got to be some- 
thing somebody will take a fancy to. I wonder 
if Rosemary wants this book of songs? I believe 
Vivien would buy them.” 

“Then put them in the sale and ask Rosemary 
afterwards,” counselled Monica, rapidly running 
through the contents of an Indian box, and con- 
tributing two chains of Eastern beads and some 
bangles. “ I’ve a pile of old story books I’ve 
done with. I expect those First Form kids would 
like them. And I’ve some chalks and a drawing 
slate.” 

“And I’ve an almost new blotter, and some 
Indian curios, and some foreign stamps, and a 
very good post-card album, and a quite new birth- 
day book.” 

“That Kate Greenaway one? Oh! you prom- 
ised to give it to we!” exclaimed Monica. 

“ You’ve got two of your own already! ” 

“ I don’t care ! I want this as well.” 

“ Then buy it at the sale.” 

“No, I’m going to get Jill’s box of pastels and 
Miriam’s autograph album. I’ve bagged them 
in advance. Tibbiekins, I must have that birthday 
book!” 

“You can’t. Cuckoo! Don’t be greedy! ” 

“ But you promisedl ” 

“Well, I can’t help it if I did, and I don’t 
remember promising, anyway. That birthday 


ii8 Head Girl at The Gables 


book’s going down to the sale, and if you want 
it, you’ll just have to buy it. There!” 

“You mean thing!” blazed Monica. “Just 
because you’re head girl, you think you can do 
as you like. Keep your old birthday book, and 
sell it to anybody you can. /shan’t buy it! But 
I’ll pay you out for this — see if I don’t! I think 
you’re perfectly hateful, Lorraine! I wish you’d 
go away to a boarding school, or to a college 
like Rosemary. I don’t want you here at home, 
anyway ! ” 

“All right, draw it mild!” said Lorraine, who 
was well accustomed to her younger sister’s out- 
bursts of temper. 

“You really did promise poor Cuckoo that Kate 
Greenaway birthday book,” remarked Mrs. For- 
rester later in the evening. 

“I can’t remember anything at all about it. 
Mother,” said Lorraine impatiently. “Cuckoo 
makes such an absurd fuss. Surely she might 
be ready to give up something for the prisoners 
of war. It’s not good for her always to get her 
own way! She’s really so absurdly spoilt!” 

“Somebody else likes her own way occasion- 
ally!” suggested Mrs. Forrester, with uplifted 
eyebrows. 

“Well, you can’t say I’m spoilt! The middle 
girl never is. It’s Rosemary and Monica who get all 
the attention in this family!” declared Lorraine, 
flouncing out of the room in a state of mind bor- 
dering on rebellion. 

She wrapped up the birthday book in white tissue 


White Elephants 119 

paper, and packed it the first of all her articles 
for the sale. The best of us have our faults, 
and there was a strain of obstinacy in Lorraine’s 
disposition. She and Monica had waged war 
before this, on occasion. They did not speak to 
each other at supper. 

‘‘What a nice, cheerful thing it is to have two 
thunder-clouds sitting at the table!” commented 
Mrs. Forrester. “ It’s so pleasant for the rest of 
us, isn’t it?” 

“Mind the milk doesn’t turn sour!” chuckled 
Mervyn. “You girls are the limit!” 

The sale, by special permission of Miss Kingsley, 
was fixed for three o’clock on Thursday afternoon, 
a whole hour’s lessons being remitted in its favour. 
It was to be held in the gymnasium, and the 
articles were to be spread out on benches. Each 
form had contributed its own quota, and had ap- 
pointed two representatives as saleswomen. The 
goods were marked, but bargaining was permis- 
sible if the figure was considered by the saleswoman 
to be too high. The monitresses constituted a 
court of appeal on this score. 

All had done really nobly in the way of bringing 
contributions, and most of the “white elephants” 
were quite useful and desirable possessions. The 
girls wandered round, looking at an assortment of 
brooches, penknives, pencil-boxes, paints, chalks, 
books, music, blotters, photo frames, toys, and a 
number of little trifles such as girls love. Lorraine, 
with three weeks’ accumulated pocket money, a 
hitherto unspent birthday present, and what was 


120 Head Girl at The Gables 

left in her savings-box, felt in a position to be mu- 
nificent, and determined to patronize each separate 
stall. She first made a tour of them all, before 
she should decide upon her purchases. 

“ It’s quite a good show,” said Vivien, fondly 
fingering a black cat mascot she had just bought 
and fastened upon her blouse. “Seen the kids’ 
things? They’re ripping, some of them. They 
must have been looting at home! I’ve got the 
prettiest little purse! I’ll show it to you. Only 
gave sixpence for it. It’s a real bargain!” 

“I’ve been wanting a muff chain forji'^^rx!” 
declared Nellie. “ I put it down regularly on my 
birthday and Christmas lists, but my family always 
gave me something else instead. Now don’t you 
think this is just the jinkiest one you’ve ever seen? 
I can’t think how Audrey could part with it! ” 

“ Muff chains aren’t fashionable now! ” 

“ That won’t trouble me in the least! ” 

“I hunted out my old dolls and dolls’ clothes,” 
said Claire, “and the kids went wild over them. 
Dora doesn’t care for dolls, so it was no use keeping 
them for her. She’s a regular tomboy.” 

“ What did you bring, Claudia?” asked Nellie. 
“Those Art Magazines and copies of The Con- 
noisseur, Dad let me have them from his studio.” 

“ Oh, goody! They’re the very things I want! ” 
rejoiced Lorraine. “Tell Patsie not to sell them 
till I come!” 

She had reached the Second Form stall, and was 
hurriedly reviewing its contents, gazing over the 
heads of a chattering mob of juniors. Suddenly 


White Elephants 121 

she gave a gasp of consternation. In the middle 
of the bench, temptingly spread forth in a row, 
were a number of objects with which she was 
familiar — some coloured supplements from Christ- 
mas numbers, a mug with a robin on it, a sandal- 
wood box, a carved photo frame, a travelling ink- 
pot, two plaques of Thorwaldsen’s “Night” and 
“ Morning”, and a model of a Swiss chalet. They 
were household articles which she had appropriated 
to herself, and had hidden away for safety in a 
drawer on the top landing at home. Each one 
was a treasure. She loved the coloured supple- 
ments, and had meant to have them framed when 
she could afford it. The robin mug was her last 
link with childhood. The chalet, though really 
the property of Richard, had been knocking about 
in the attic till she had rescued it, and the other 
things had all been apparently discarded by their 
rightful owners until she had adopted them. To 
see them here, laid out ready for sale, was a shock. 

“ It’s that abominable little wretch of a Cuckoo! 
ril slay her for this!” she thought grimly, and 
started off to find the offender. She discovered her 
among a crowd of kindred pig-tails, and dragged 
her away into a discreet corner. 

“ What do you mean by prigging my things for 
your stall?” she demanded angrily. 

“They’re not your things!” retorted Monica. 
“Not more than anybody else’s. Those coloured 
pictures belong to Father and Mother, and the 
chalet was Richard’s, only I’m sure he doesn’t 
want it, and the ink-pot’s the one Aunt Ellie left 


122 


Head Girl at The Gables 

behind, and the photo frame is Rosemary’s. I 
found them all in a drawer on the top landing.” 

“You knew I’d put them there!” 

Monica coloured to the tips of her ears. 

“They’re as much mine as yours!” she flared. 

“ Did Mother say you might have them?” 

“ I didn’t ask her, and no more did you when 
you took them ! Anyhow, they’re ‘ white ele- 
phants ’ now, and ‘on sale’.” 

“You must get them back, Monica!” urged 
Lorraine desperately. “Tell Kitty and Joan you 
took them by mistake!” 

“How can I? Really, Lorraine, I wonder at 
you! Do you want me to disgrace the family? 
Nice thing it would look for the head girl’s sister 
to take things back that she’d just given! Why, 
the whole form would scoff at us! Surely you 
might be ready to give up something for the 
prisoners of war? That’s what you said about 
me, at any rate! If you want your old things, 
you must buy them back!” 

And Monica, making a sudden dive between two 
Fifth Form girls, escaped from her sister, and 
sought the farthest corner of the gymnasium. 

In spite of her indignation, Lorraine could not 
help acknowledging that there was justice in these 
remarks. It would certainly be most undignified, 
and in fact impossible, to take back articles once 
given to the sale. Cuckoo’s taunt about the 
prisoners of war stung Lorraine badly. If she 
wanted her treasures, there was nothing for it but 
to put the best face she could on the matter, and 


White Elephants 123 

buy them at once before anybody else had an 
innings. It might already be too late. In con- 
siderable anxiety she hurried back to the stall, 
and found a curly-headed junior critically handling 
the robin mug. She snatched it from the child 
with scant ceremony. 

‘‘If you don’t want this, Doris, I do! How 
much, Kitty, please? I’ll take these pictures too; 
yes, and this chalet; and I’ll have the ink-pot and 
the frame as well. That’s all, if you’ll make them 
into a parcel. Thanks!” and Lorraine sailed away, 
leaving Doris open-mouthed, and Kitty cheerfully 
clinking the change in her brown leather money- 
bag. It was annoying to have spent so much, for 
it meant forgoing a piece of music which she had 
intended to give to Morland. She watched her 
cousin buy it instead. 

“I’ll borrow it from Vivien and copy it,” she 
thought rapidly. “Or if Morland plays it twice 
over, he’ll have it by heart. Hallo! Four o’clock 
already, and these stalls not half cleared! We 
shall have to have an auction.” 

Patsie, on being consulted, agreed, and readily 
undertook the post of auctioneer, to which she was 
voted by general accord. 

“ I don’t know whether to take it as compliment 
or not,” she twittered. “ I suppose you think I’ve 
got the gift of the gab, and will make a good 
Cheap Jack! Well, I’ll do my best for you. Here 
goes ! Give me a ruler or something for a hammer.” 

A treble line of girls spread themselves round 
in an amused circle. Patsie, and especially Patsie 


124 


Head Girl at The Gables 

in a bantering mood, was always worth listening 
to. They prepared themselves for a half-hour of 
sheer fun. 

The amateur auctioneer — or rather auctioneeress 
— seized upon the first thing that came to hand, 
which happened to be one of Claire’s discarded 
dolls. She held it aloft, and descanted eloquently 
upon its virtues. 

‘‘Look at this!’* she proclaimed. “A real 
Parisian doll — hehe jumeait—je fats dodo—je vou- 
drais une maman — and all the rest of it! Kindly 
notice, they’re real ball joints, and not just slung 
together with bits of elastic. Observe the beautiful 
little teeth, that might have stepped out of a den- 
tist’s advertisement, and the richness of the brow n 
curls. ‘ Hair rather thin ’, did someone remark? 
Well, buy a new wig for it, then; you can’t expect 
everything! ‘Lost a hand?’ So have a good many 
of our soldiers. It’s only in the fashion. Be glad 
it hasn’t lost both, and a leg too! White silk dress 
and red coat, and clothes that take on and off! 
Why, I feel that I want to play with it myself, and 
take it to bed with me. What offers? Someone 
kindly make a bid to begin. Two shillings — 
thank you! Two and six! Three shillings! Come, 
ladies, it’s worth pounds instead of shillings at 
present-day prices! Four shillings ! Four and six! 
I see I shall have to buy it myself. Only four and 
six! I’m getting too fond of it to part with it! 
Five shillings! I’m going to name it Rosabelle! 
Five shillings! Going at only five shillings ! With 
a red coat and a white silk dress! I’ll throw in this 


White Elephants 125 

hat as well. Five shillings — who’ll say five and 
six? It’s a real bargain. The sort you only meet 
once in a lifetime. Going at five and six! Real 
Parisian. Going! Going! Gone!” 

Patsie struck her ruler on the back of an extem- 
porized desk, and dropped the doll in question into 
tlie delighted arms of Virginia Hewlett; then, leav- 
ing Dorothy to complete the business part of the 
transaction, transferred her attention to other objects 
of sale. 

“Here’s a post-card album!” she announced. 
“ If you don’t collect post cards, you ought to; and 
if you haven’t an album to put them in, now’s your 
chance! Best crocodile back! ‘Imitation’, did some- 
body remark? Well, never mind, it’s quite as good 
as original. We can’t import crocodiles during the 
war. The Kaiser’s bought them all up to manu- 
facture crocodile tears! ‘Some of the slips torn’? 
Mend them up with a little seccotine, and they’ll be 
as good as new. Fourpence! Sixpence! Eight- 
pence! A shilling! Going at a shilling! Going ! 
Gone!” 

There seemed no end to Patsie’s powers of apt 
description. The girls giggled hysterically as, 
almost with tears in her voice, she descanted upon 
the merits of a cracked teapot, the beauties of a 
battered birdcage, or the capacity of a Japanese 
pencil-box. The fun of out-bidding spread like 
infection, and many of the articles fetched far more 
than they had originally been marked at by their 
owners. There are limits, however, to school-girl 
pockets, and Miss Kingsley had made a special 


126 Head Girl at The Gables 

proviso that no credit was to be given. As the 
purses grew thin, the objects on sale went off, as 
Patsie expressed it, “dirt cheap”, and several girls 
secured bargains surpassing even their wildest 
dreams. 

“Time’s getting on, and we put up^he shutters 
at five,” continued the loquacious auctioneeress. 
“ I’ll take the rest in lots. Some one please give 
me a cough lozenge, for my throat’s getting hoarse. 
You don’t wonder? Then take my place, and do 
the talking yourself. You’re welcome to it. Oh! 
you’d rather not, when it comes to the point? Give 
me a bid, then, to start this charming assortment 
of fancy articles — chalks, marbles, pencils, wools 
all mixed together and going for next to nothing. 
Pennies will do it. We don’t want to take any- 
thing home again.” 

Thanks to Patsie’s persuasive tongue, the whole 
stock of goods was at last disposed of, and quite a 
nice little sum was counted up for the prisoners of 
war. 

The girls trudged home with their parcels, in 
high spirits, voting the whole affair a huge success, 
and laughing immoderately over some of the in- 
cidents. Vivien, in an unwonted mood of gener- 
osity, actually offered to copy the piece of music 
for her cousin. Claire and Nellie, after quarrelling 
over a framed picture, patched up peace, and pre- 
sented it between them to their form mistress. 

Lorraine, when she reached her own bedroom, 
locked her particular treasures securely in her 
bottom drawer. But that night, when she was 


White Elephants 125 

settling snugly on her pillow, there was a patter of 
bedroom slippers along the landing, her door burst 
open, and a little sobbing, dressing-gowned figure 
came creeping into her bed. 

“ I’m sorry I took your things,’^ it gulped. “ I 
c — c — couldn’t go to sleep till I’d said so. I 
t — t — took them because I was cross about the 
b — b — birthday book. I was a b — b — b — east!” 

‘‘I was a bigger beast. Cuckoo!” confessed 
Lorraine, hugging her tight. “Look here. I’ll 
buy you another Kate Greenaway birthday book, 
exactly the same only absolutely new, and give it 
to you for Christmas. Would you like that?” 

“Yes, I’d love it. But might I have it before 
Christmas? I meant to copy some of those dear 
little pictures on to a calendar for Mother. She 
said she liked them so much, and I’d planned it 
for her present, and that was why I wanted the 
birthday book so badly.” 

“Poor old Cuckoo! I understand. I’ll order 
it at once at Smith’s.” 

“You don’t think me greedy?” 

“Not a bit of it! I wish I’d known about the 
calendar. There, wipe your eyes, and go back to 
your own bed. It’s striking ten, and you ought to 
have been asleep an hour ago!” 


CHAPTER X 

A Sinister Incident 

’Twixt home and The Gables, Lorraine found her 
life that autumn a very busy one. As head girl, 
the demands made on her time were considerable. 
She sometimes thought it would have been easier 
to be at a boarding school, where her whole 
energies could have been focused upon school 
matters; private interests, though very enthralling, 
were certainly a hindrance. And there were so 
many of them — her painting lessons and delightful 
intimacy with Margaret Lindsay, and the rich art 
world that had thereby opened its doors to her; 
an increasing friendship with Morland Castleton, 
whose musical genius spurred her on to fresh 
efforts at her violin; her affection for Claudia and 
for the rest of the merry crew of the Castleton 
family; to say nothing of the dear home people 
who claimed her attention; Richard and Donald 
fighting in France, Rodney making his first flights 
in the Air Force, Rosemary hard at work in the 
college of music, and writing ecstatic weekly 
budgets of her experiences, Mervyn with his fun 

and nonsense and gossip from the Grammar 
128 


A Sinister Incident 129 

School, and Monica, who was the spoilt darling of 
the family. 

Whatever her faults, Lorraine possessed to the 
full that intense zest of life that the French call 
“using up one’s heart”. It is a gift that — thank 
God! — the war has given to most of our British 
girlhood. The old, fashionable attitude of boredom, 
that at one time spread like a blight over certain 
classes of society, is happily passing away, purged 
by the common need of sacrifice. It is incredible 
that at one time girls could exist in this world, 
possessed of eyes and ears, and pass by the touch- 
ing, dramatic, joyous human comedy as though 
they were blind and deaf. All the things we learn 
at school are of no value to us unless with* them we 
learn to love life — life in all its aspects of joy and 
sorrow, laughter and tears, work and pleasure. 

There was so much going on at The Gables, 
both in lessons and games. The hockey season 
had begun, and every Wednesday afternoon the 
school played in a field on the cliffs which they 
rented; under the coaching of Miss Paget, a new 
mistress, the teams were improving. Dorothy as 
captain made a much better leader than Helen 
Stanley had done a year ago, and Patsie and 
Vivien as half-backs were considered rising stars. 
The second team, which hitherto had been rather 
contemptible, raised its standard to an amazing 
extent, and seemed to promise great things. The 
girls began to look forward to Wednesdays. 

One bright sunny afternoon in early November 
they were assembled on the field. In their navy 

( C 976 ) 9 


130 Head Girl at The Gables 

serge skirts and scarlet jerseys they made a bright 
patch of colour against the green of the grass and the 
autumn blue of the sky and the grey-blue expanse 
of sea that spread beneath the yellow cliffs. It was 
a pretty scene, with a background of late-flowering 
gorse bushes and a foreground of corn marigold 
that edged the field. The sunshine fell on the 
athletic figures and hatless heads of the teams. A 
very pretty scene indeed, and so evidently thought 
a dark-faced, clean-shaven individual who was 
dodging about the gate, busy with a camera. He 
fixed a stand, put his head repeatedly under a black 
velvet cloth, and was apparently focusing upon 
the groups of players. The girls noticed him, and 
pointed him out to Miss Paget. The dragon in her 
was at once roused to wrath, and she advanced 
in defence of her flock. 

“ May I ask on what authority you’re taking 
photographs of this school?” she asked icily. 

The stranger was all smiles and civility. He 
displayed an excellent set of teeth as, with a 
decidedly foreign bow and flourish of his hat, he 
offered a plausible explanation. 

“ I ask your pardon, Madam! I am an American 
— a journalist. I have been sent by my newspaper 
to England to write an article upon Girls’ Schools. 
I have heard of yours, and wish to include it in my 
report, with a photo of its pupils. I crave your 
permission to take a snapshot of the game.” 

Miss Paget stared at him with suspicion. She 
was a good judge of character, and had studied 
types of nationality; moreover, she had herself 


A Sinister Incident 


i3< 


spent six months in the United States. The 
man’s physiog^nomy and accent were anything^ but 
American. She would set them down as decidedly 
Teutonic. 

‘‘Certainly not!” she replied. “Miss Kingsley 
would not dream of permitting it.” 

“But I have permission from Miss Kingsley!” 
he fawned. “ I am to send her photos.” 

“ Miss' Kingsley did not mention the matter to 
me, and unless I have her express directions I 
cannot allow it. Will you kindly remove your 
camera?” 

“Just one little snapshot!” he begged insinu- 
atingly. 

“ You’ve interrupted our game. Will you please 
go? And I must remind you that this is a mili- 
tary area, and that, unless you have a signed 
permit for photography, you are liable to be 
arrested.” 

“Oh, that is all right! I have the credentials 
of my newspaper, as well as the assent of Miss 
Kingsley.” 

Miss Paget’s temper, which had been rapidly 
rising, now fizzed over. 

“ If 3^ou don’t take yourself off. I’ll send some 
of my pupils to fetch the coast-guard!” she thun- 
dered. 

With an apologetic shrug of the shoulders the 
interloper packed up his camera and departed, not 
without trying to secure a hurried surreptitious 
snapshot with a small kodak, an effort which was 
nipped in the bud by Miss Paget, who stood like 


'32 


Head Girl at The Gables 

a sentry at the gate, speeding his departure. She 
watched him till he was safely out of sight and 
then joined the excited girls, some of whom had 
overheard the conversation. 

“ That’s no American !” she proclaimed. ‘‘And 
I don’t fora moment believe that he had permission 
from Miss Kingsley to photograph the school.” 

“ She’d have said so, surely,” commented Vivien. 

“Probably he didn’t even know her name till 
you mentioned it. Miss Paget,” said Lorraine. 

“ He’s a foreigner in my opinion — possibly a 
spy,” continued the mistress. “This field would 
make a most excellent landing-place for enemy 
aircraft. One can’t be too careful in these matters 
— living as we do near the coast, in a military zone. 
The cheek of the man, too! Calmly to set up his 
camera and begin to take us without asking leave! 
Even in times of peace it would be unpardonable. 
I must say I have the very strongest suspicions of 
his intentions.” 

“ It seems rather the wrong time for an American 
magazine to be wanting an article on English Girls’ 
Schools,” said Patsie. 

“ It’s the most flimsy excuse.” 

The affair made quite a sensation in the school. 
Miss Kingsley, when the matter was reported 
to her, disclaimed all knowledge of the photo- 
grapher or any commission to him to take the 
liockey teams. She was justly indignant, and 
almost thought of mentioning the incident to the 
police. The girls talked the affair threadbare. 
They were quite sure they had had an encounter 


A Sinister Incident 


33 


with a spy. Their suspicions were further justified 
in the course of a few days by an experience of 
Lorraine’s. 

She was going by train on Saturday morning 
to Ranock, a little place a few miles from Porth- 
keverne, whither her mother had sent her to return 
some books to a friend who lived near the station. 
There were several other people in the compart- 
ment; and sitting in the corner on the side next 
to the sea was a man whom Lorraine was nearly 
sure she recognized as the pertinacious stranger of 
the hockey field. She watched him now keenly. 
He was gazing out of the window at the sand-hills 
and stretches of marshy shore. Presently they 
passed the golf links, and, quick as thought, he 
whisked a little kodak from his pocket and began 
to take instantaneous photographs through the 
carriage window. Lorraine uttered an exclama- 
tion and nudged the gentleman who sat next to 
her. Promptly he interfered. 

“Look here! Snapshots aren’t allowed without 
a permit,” he remonstrated. 

The photographer slipped the kodak back into 
his pocket and smiled his former plausible smile. 

“I am an American,” he began, “ a journalist. 
I have been sent by my newspaper to England, to 
write an article upon golf links. I vrish to include 
those of Porthkeverne, with illustrations.” 

“Have you a permit?” persisted his fellow- 
passenger. “You’ll get yourself into trouble if 
you haven’t. The authorities are uncommonly 
strict about it.” 


134 Head Girl at The Gables 

It*s a queer dodge to photograph the golf 
links from a railway carriage,” commented some- 
one else. 

“ Not at all! I take hundreds of photos for my 
magazine in this way,” explained the self-styled 
journalist. 

“Well, you’ll just not take any now,” returned 
the other. “ If you do, 1 shall inform the guard.” 

Lorraine listened excitedly. She was quite loath 
to leave the compartment at Ranock. She won- 
dered to what destination the man was travelling, 
and hoped that the other passengers would keep 
an eye on him. She went that afternoon to see 
her uncle, Barton Forrester, who was a special 
constable, and told him about both incidents. He 
looked thoughtful. 

“I’ll report the matter to Wakelin,” he com- 
mented. “One can’t be too careful in a place like 
this. Of course the fellow might have a permit, 
but it had better be inquired into. Give me as 
accurate a description of him as you can.” 

Lorraine shut her eyes, visualized, and gave her 
impressions of the stranger. Uncle Barton rapidly 
jotted down a few notes. He communicated the 
result to the chief constable, who issued an order 
that the next time anyone answering to that de- 
scription was sighted his photographic permit was 
to be demanded and inspected. There is such a 
thing, however, as shutting the stable door after 
the steed is stolen ; and, in spite of the vigilance of 
the local police, nothing further was seen or heard 
of the enterprising photographer. He had evi- 


A Sinister Incident 


135 

dently betaken himself and his camera to other 
scenes of adventure. 

The school talked about the episode for a while 
with bated breath, then forgot it in the whirl of 
other interests. It was getting near Christmas 
time, and there was ever so much to be done in 
preparation. The excitement of the moment was 
the rhythmic dancing display. All the term a 
teacher had been coming weekly from St. Cyr, 
and those lucky individuals who were members of 
the dancing class had had the time of their lives. 
Of course the musical ones, and those with some 
idea of the poetry of motion, scored the most, but 
even those who were not naturally graceful enjoyed 
the movements. 

Miss Kingsley had decided that her pupils should 
give a display of what they had learnt, and invited 
an audience of parents and friends to the gym- 
nasium on breaking-up day. The performance was 
to begin at three o’clock, and long before that hour 
the proud band of selected artistes, arrayed in their 
costumes, were assembled ready in the small studio 
which served as a dressing-room. There were a 
good many of them, and the space was limited, so 
it was a decided cram. 

“Everybody seems to take up so much more 
room than usual to-day,” declared Patsie, flinging 
out a long arm with a floral garland, and hitting 
Effie Swan by accident in the eye. 

“Of course they do, when they’re as clumsy as 
you are,” retorted that distressed damsel, with her 
handkerchief to the injured orb. “I call you the 


136 Head Girl at The Gables 


absolute limit, Patsie — you’re fit for nothing but 
a barn dance! Clogs would suit you better than 
sandals.” 

“Gently, child, gently! Sorry if I’ve hurt your 
eye, but don’t let that warp your judgment. The 
Flower Quadrille’s going to be rather choice, 
though 1 say it as shouldn’t.” 

“The others’ part of it, perhaps, but not yours.” 

“ There, don’t get excited ! I forgive you !” 

“It’s for me to forgive, not for you, I think!” 
grumbled Effie. “A nice object I shall look danc- 
ing with my eye all red and inflamed!” 

“ I wish the gym. were a larger room !” groused 
Theresa. “The dances would have a much better 
effect if there were more space for them, and I 
should like a parquet floor.” 

“ What else would you like?” snapped Lorraine. 
“Some people would grumble in Paradise. The 
old gym.’s not such a bad place for a performance, 
and the floor has been chalked. I think myself it’s 
a very decent sort of room. Would you like to 
dance on the lawn?” 

“Not in December, thanks!” 

“ Are you ready, girls?” asked Miss Paget, open- 
ing the door. “ Miss Leighton has just come, and 
we’re going to begin.” 

There was no doubt that the dances were ex- 
tremely pretty. Miss Leighton was an excellent 
teacher, and her pupils did her credit. The audi- 
ence was charmed, and clapped with the utmost 
enthusiasm at the end of each performance. There 
was a Daisy Dance, in which twelve little girls. 


A Sinister Incident 


*37 


dressed to represent daisies, went through a series 
of very graceful movements; and a Rose Gavotte 
that was equally pretty and tasteful. A Butterflies' 
Ball, in which the dancers waved gorgeous wings 
of painted muslin, was highly effective; and so 
was the Russian Mazurka, given by Vivien and 
Dorothy, attired in fur-trimmed costumes and high 
scarlet leather boots. The babies looked sweet in 
a Doll Dance, and little Beatrice Perry made 
a sensation by her pas seul as ‘‘Cupid”, dressed 
in a classic toga with the orthodox bow and arrows. 
She was a beautifully made child of six, and danced 
barefooted, so she looked the part admirably, and 
quite carried the audience by storm, 

Monica, with floating fair hair, a figured muslin 
dress and a basket of flowers, capered as a “Spring 
Wind” and dropped blossoms in the path of 
“April”; even Patsie, the overgrown, looked 
quite pretty in her Flower Quadrille. But every- 
body decided that the star of the afternoon was 
Claudia. She was beautiful to begin with, and 
her forget-me-not costume suited her exactly. 
Perhaps her long experience in posing as a model 
for her father's pictures made it easier for her to 
learn the right postures. She had dropped into 
the rhythmic dancing as into a birthright; her 
movements seemed the very embodiment of natural 
grace, and to watch her was like surprising the 
fairies at dawn, or the dryads and oreads in a 
classic forest. The best of Claudia was that she 
was quite without self-consciousness. She danced 
because she enjoyed it, not to command admira- 


138 Head Girl at The Gables 

tion. She received the storm of clapping quite 
as a matter of course, just as she' took the exhibi- 
tion of her many portraits in the Academy. 

“ I’d give anything to have your face,” said 
Patsie enviously to her afterwards. ‘‘Some folks 
are luckers! Why wasn’t / born pretty? It gives 
people such a tremendous pull!” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Claudia, rather taken 
aback at the question. 

“ Look here!” said Lorraine; “ we’ve got to take 
the faces our mothers gave us. Haven’t you heard 
of a beautiful plain person? I know several who 
haven’t a single decent feature, and yet somehow 
they’re lovely in spite of it all. Some of the most 
fascinating women in the world have been plain — 
George Sand hadn’t an atom of beauty, and yet she 
enthralled two such geniuses as Chopin and Alfred 
de Musset.” 

“ I’ll go in for fascination, then,” rattled on 
Patsie. “We can’t all be in the same style. 
Claudia shall do the Venus business, and I’ll be 
a what-do-you-call-it? Siren?” 

“ Oh, no! Sirens were wretches!” 

“Why, I thought they were only a sort of 
mermaid! Well, I’ll be very modern — chic, and 
spirituelle^ and witty, and Jin-^-siecle and all the 
rest of it; and I’ll have a salon like those French 
women used to have, and everybody’ll want to 
come to it, and talk about the charming Miss 
Sullivan, only perhaps I’ll be Mrs. Somebody by 
that time! I hope so, at any rate. I don’t mean 
to be left in the lurch, if I can help it!” 


A Sinister Incident 


>39 

“What shall you do if you are?” laughed Lor- 
raine. 

“Go in for a career, my dear!” said Patsie 
airily. “Farming, or Parliament, or doctoring. 
Everything’s open to us women now!” 

“Well, I wouldn’t try Rhythmic Dancing, at 
any rate! You’re certainly not cut out for that!” 
scoffed Effie, whose injured eye was still smarting. 


CHAPTER XI 

Madame Bertier 

* ' When the bitter north wind blows, 

Very red is Baba’s nose, 

Very cold are Baba’s toes : 

When the north wind ’s blowing. 

When the north wind ’s blowing ! ” 

So sang Monica, rather out of tune, as she 
reached home, in a scratchy mood, on the first 
afternoon of the January term, and hurried up 
to the fire. 

‘‘I don’t like school! I don't like it!” she pro- 
claimed to a sympathetic audience of Rosemary, 
Cousin Elsie, and Richard (who was home on 
leave). I call it cruelty to send me every single 
day to sit for five whole hours at a horrid little 
desk, stuffing my head with things I don’t want 
to know, and never shall want to know, if I live 
to be a hundred. Why must I go?” 

“Poor kiddie!” laughed Richard. “You’ve 
got it badly! It’s a disease I used to suffer from 
myself. They called it ‘ schoolophobia ’ when I 
was young. They cured it with a medicine called 
‘ spinkum-spankum ’, if I remember rightly — one 
of those good old-fashioned remedies, don’t you 
know, that our grandmothers always went by.” 

140 


Madame Bertier 


141 

“You’re making fun of me!” chafed Monica. 
“And I do really mean what I say. It’s cold 
at school, and horrid, and Miss Davis is always 
down on me, and I hate it. Why must I go?” 

“ And -uihy must I go back to the trenthes?” 

Don tr 

“All serene! You and I’ll find a desert island 
together somewhere, and live upon it for the rest 
of our lives. You see, they’d never have us back 
again if we deserted. We’d have to stop on our 
island for evermore!” 

“ I thought you liked The Gables?” yawned 
Elsie. “Vivien does. I’m sure it’s a very nice 
school.” 

“Oh, Vivien! I dare say! It’s all very fine 
for monitresses. But when you’re in the Third 
Form, and your desk’s on the cold side of the 
room, it’s the limit. Yes, I dare say I shall get 
chilblains if I sit close to the fire, but I dont 
careV' 

“The first day’s always a little grizzly,” agreed 
Lorraine, who had followed Monica to the hearth- 
rug and joined the circle of fire-worshippers. “ One 
hates getting into harness again after the holidays. 
I believe Rosemary’s the only one of us who really 
enthuses. You’ll be gone, too, by next week. 
Quavers! But I suppose you really enjoy sing- 
ing exercises, and having professors storming at 
you.” 

“Of course I do,” said Rosemary, with a rather 
unconvincing note in her voice. 

Lorraine glanced at her quickly, but the little 


142 Head Girl at The Gables 

brown head was lowered, and shadows hid the 
sweet face. Lorraine could not understand Rose- 
mary these holidays. She had returned from her 
first term at the College of Music seemingly as 
full of enthusiasm as ever, and yet there was 
‘‘a something”. She gave rapturous accounts 
of pupils’ concerts, of singing classes, of fellow- 
students, of rising stars in the musical world, of 
favourite teachers, of fun at the College and at 
the hostel where she boarded. She had made 
many new friendships, and was apparently having 
the time of her life. 

^‘From her accounts you’d think it was all 
skittles, but I’m sure there’s a hitch somewhere)” 
mused Lorraine. 

Rosemary, with her big eyes and bigger aspira- 
tions, had always been more or less of a problem. 
The family had decided emphatically that she was 
its genius. They looked for great things from her 
when her course at the College should be finished. 
They all experienced a sort of second-hand credit 
in her anticipated achievements. It is so nice to 
have someone else to do the clever things while 
we ourselves wear a reflected glory thereby. Mrs. 
Forrester, mother-proud of her musical chick, could 
not refrain from a little gentle boasting about her 
daughter’s talents. She told everybody that she 
liked girls to have careers, and that parents ought 
to make every effort to let a gifted child have a 
chance. In Lorraine’s estimation Rosemary’s future 
was to be one round of triumph, ending possibly in 
a peal of wedding bells. Lorraine was fond of 


Madame Bertier 


143 


making up romances, and had evolved a highly- 
satisfactory hero for her sister. He was always 
tall, but his eyes varied in colour, and he some- 
times had a moustache and sometimes was clean- 
shaven. Though his personal appearance varied 
from day to day, his general qualities persisted, 
and he invariably possessed a shooting-box in 
Scotland, where he would be prepared to extend 
a warm welcome to his bride’s younger sister. 

Meantime, though Rosemary had been a whole 
term at the college, her family had no means of 
judging her progress. She had diligently prac- 
tised scales, exercises and arpeggios, but had stead- 
fastly refused to sing any songs to them. Vainly 
they had begged for old favourites; she was 
obdurate to the point of obstinacy. 

“ Signor Arezzo doesn’t want me to! I’m study- 
ing on his special method, and he’s most particular 
about it. He keeps everybody at exercises for the 
first term. When I go back he says perhaps he’ll 
let me have just 07 ie song.” 

** But surely it couldn’t spoil your voice to sing 
‘ My Happy Garden ’?” demanded her father, much 
disappointed. 

“He forbade it enitrefyl” declared Rosemary 
emphatically. 

This new attitude of Rosemary’s of hiding her 
light under a bushel was trying to Lorraine. She 
had been looking forward to showing off her clever 
musical sister to Morland. She had expected the 
two to become chums at once, but they did nothing 
of the sort. Rosemary treated Morland with the 


144 


Head Girl at The Gables 

airy patronage that a girl, who has just begun to 
mix with older men, sometimes metes out to a boy 
of seventeen. She was not nearly as much im- 
pressed by his playing as Lorraine had antici- 
pated. 

“He ought to learn from Signor RassuU!** she 
commented. “ Nobody who hasn’t studied on his 
method can possibly have a touch!” 

“But Morland’s exquisite touch is his great 
point!” persisted Lorraine indignantly. 

“ I can’t stand the boy! ” yawned Rosemary. 

It is always most amazing, when we like a person 
exceedingly ourselves, to find that somebody else 
has formed a different opinion. With all his short- 
comings, Lorraine appreciated Morland. He often 
missed his appointments, and was generally late 
for everything, but when he turned up he played 
her accompaniments as no one else ever played 
them. Moreover, he was a very pleasant com- 
panion, and full of fun in a mild artistic sort of 
fashion of his own. He was certainly one of the 
central figures in the beautiful, shiftless, Bohemian 
household on the hill. Lorraine had a sense that, 
when he went, the Castleton family would lose 
its corner stone. Yet some day he would be 
bound to go. 

“I expect to be called up in March!” he an- 
nounced one day. 

Lorraine looked at him critically. Morland, 
with his ripply hair and the features of a Fra 
Angelico angel, would seem out of place in khaki. 
His dreamy, unpunctual ways and general lack of 



■ «r>. J o~ IS, 

C 975 

“everything’s gone wrong!” declared LORRAINE TRAGICALLY 


I 


I 


* 






t 


• > 


t 



I 









'I 


4 .. 


I 

« 


i • 




» 


r ^ 










Madame Bertier 145 

concentration would be highly exasperating to his 
drill-sergeant. She wondered what would happen 
when, as usual, he turned up late. Artistic tem- 
peraments did not fit in well with the stern realities 
of life. She had a feeling that they ought to be 
exempted. 

Music, this term, was more to the fore than 
usual in Lorraine’s horizon. After Christmas a 
fresh teacher had come to the school, who gave 
lessons in French, violin, and piano. Her name 
was Madame Bertier, and she was a Russian by 
birth, though her husband was a Belgian at present 
interned in Germany. 

She was a new arrival at Porthkeverne, and had 
rooms in the artists’ quarter of the town. She 
spent her mornings at The Gables, and filled up 
her afternoons by taking private pupils. Like 
most Russians, she had a charming manner, and 
was brimming over with talent. She was a strik- 
ing-looking woman, with a clear, pale complexion, 
flashing hazel eyes, and carefully arranged coiffure. 
Her delicate hands were exquisitely manicured. 
She dressed becomingly, and wore handsome rings. 
Her foreign accent was decidedly pretty. 

Most of the school, and the Sixth Form in par- 
ticular, went crazy over her. They admired her 
frocks, her hair, her earrings, and the whole 
charming air of “finish” about her. It became 
the fashion of the moment to adore her. Those 
girls who took private music lessons from her were 
counted lucky. The members of the French class 
vied with one another in presenting offerings of 
( 0975 ) 10 


146 Head Girl at The Gables 


violets or early snowdrops. She accepted the little 
bouquets as gracefully as a prima donna. 

“She’s the most absolutely topping person Pve 
ever met!” affirmed Vivien, who was one of her 
most ardent worshippers. 

“ Um — well enough ! ” said Lorraine, whose head 
was not turned by the new idol. “ She’s not quite 
my style, somehow. I always feel she’s out for 
admiration.” 

“ Well, she deserves to be admired.” 

“Not so consciously, though.” 

“ I think she’s too precious for words. It’s some- 
thing even to be in the same room with her!” 
gushed Audrey. “I’ve scored over you, Vivien, 
because she’s written two verses in my album, and 
she only wrote one in yours! ” 

“Yes, but it was original poetry in mine!” 

“ How do you know, when it’s in Russian?” 

“ She said so, at any rate.” 

“ Oh! I must ask her to put in an original one 
for me.” 

“ She’s coming to tea with us to-morrow.” 

“ You lucker! ” 

There seemed no lengths to which the girls 
would not go. Several of them kept sentimental 
diaries in which were recorded the doings and 
sayings of their deity. Audrey’s ran as follows: — 

Jan. j^th. — A new , sun rose in the sky, and the 
world of school has changed for me. I could do 
nothing but gaze. 

Jan. i6th. — Her name is Madame Bertier. 

Jan. lyth . — Her Christian name is Olga Petrovna. 


Madame Bertier 


>47 

Jan, i8th . — She looked directly at me, and I blushed. 

Jan, igth, — To-day she smiled upon me. 

Jan, 22nd, — To-day she accepted my flowers. 

Jan. 2jrd . — A black day. Vivien has engrossed her 
entirely. 

Jan. 24.th . — I have asked Mother to call upon her. 

Jan. 2t)th . — The world dark. Mother too busy to 
call. 

Jan. 30th . — Mother called to-day. Hooray ! 

Feh. /f/.— She is coming to tea. I feel I am treading 
on air. 

Feh. 2nd . — She has been to our house. It was the 
happiest day of my life. 

Though she came as a stranger to Porthkeverne, 
Madame Bertier very soon found friends. Her 
attractive personality and her musical talent gained 
her the entree into the artistic and literary circles 
of the town. Two principal figure-painters asked 
her to sit for her portrait, and her violin was much 
in demand for concerts at the Arts Club. Like 
most of the Bohemian residents of the place, she 
found her way to the studio at Windy Howe, and 
a pastel drawing of her profile soon stood on Mr. 
Castleton’s easel. She did not win universal favour, 
however, at the hou.se on the hill. Claudia, walking 
from school one day with Lorraine, exploded upon 
the subject. 

‘‘I can’t bear the woman! I don’t know what 
Vivien and the others see in her. I call it very 
flashy to wear all that jewellery at school. She’s 
always up at our house, and Morland’s fearfully 
taken with her. They play duets by the hour 
together. Father’s going to paint her as ‘The 


148 Head Girl at The Gables 

Angel of Victory* in that huge cartoon he’s de- 
signing for the Chagstead Town Hall. I don’t 
think she’s a scrap like an angel! She pats Lilith 
and Constable on the head, just for show, but she 
!(' >ks terrified if they come near her smart frocks. 
Violet detests her. It’s the one thing Violet and 
I agree about. We’ve been squabbling over every- 
thing else lately. It’s a weary world! ” 

Madame’s fascinating enough on the surface,” 
agreed Lorraine thoughtfully, “but she’s not the 
kind of woman I admire. Somehow I don’t quite 
trust her. Do you believe in first impressions? 
So do I. Well, my first feeling about her was 
distinctly non-attractive. We ran away from each 
other mentally, like two pieces of magnetized steel. 
She’s very sweet to me at my music lessons; but 
I’m sure it’s all put on, and she doesn’t care an 
atom. It’s an entirely different thing from my 
Saturday lessons.” 

One great reason why Lorraine had not, with the 
rest of the school, fallen under the spell of the 
fascinating Russian lady, was the intense affection 
she had formed for her art teacher. She could not 
worship at both shrines, and she felt strongly that 
Margaret Lindsay was infinitely more worthy of 
admiration. The studio down by the harbour was 
still her artistic Mecca. She had a carte blanche 
invitation to go whenever she liked. She turned 
in there one Friday afternoon on her way from 
school. 

“Carina,” she said, flopping into a basket-chair 
by the fireside, “ I’m just fed up to-day!” 


Madame Bertier 


>49 


The friendship, which had begun conventionally 
with the orthodox “ Miss Lindsay”, now expressed 
itself by “ Margaret”, “ Peggy ”, or such pet terms 
as “ Carina ” and ** Love-Angel ”. 

“ What’s the matter?” asked her friend, squeez- 
ing a little extra flake-white on to her palette, and 
putting the cap on the tube again. “ It isn’t often 
yotCre fed up with lifel” 

“Everything’s gone wrong!” declared Lorraine 
tragically. “My head aches, and I didn’t know 
my literature, and Miss Janet glared at me, and 
maths, were a failure this morning too, and I felt 
scratchy and squabbled with everybody. I’m afraid 
I was rather hard on some of those kids, though 
they were the limit! Carina, when you were at 
school, did you sometimes have a fling out all 
round, or were you always good?” 

“I confess,” said Carina humorously, “that, 
when I trod the slippery paths of youth, I often 
flopped flat, and made an exhibition of myself. I 
don’t think I was a nice child at all!” 

“I call you a sain^ now! I wonder what most 
saints were like when they were young.” 

“ Many of them began as sinners. I expect 
even St. Francis of Assisi howled when he was 
a baby, and smacked his nurse. We all feel more 
or less scratchy sometimes. What you want, 
child, is a good blow on the hills. If it should be 
as fine and mild to-morrow as it was this morning, 
we’ll have our painting lesson out of doors. Bring 
your thick coat and a wrap and we’ll go right up 
towards Tangy Point, take our lunch and our 


150 Head Girl at The Gables 

sketch-books with us, find a sheltered place in the 
sun, and paint some pretty little bit on the cliffs. 
You’ll go back to school on Monday feeling at 
peace with all mankind, or rather girlkind. Do 
you like my prescription?” 

‘‘Rather! You’re the best doctor out! It’ll be 
glorious to get away from everybody for a day. 
I have too much of Monica on Saturdays as a rule. 
I’ve an instinct it’s going to be fine to-morrow!” 

Porthkeverne had its share of sea-fog in winter, 
but it also had its quota of sunshine, and this par- 
ticular February day turned out a foretaste of 
spring. Birds were singing everywhere as teacher 
and pupil, with lunch and sketching materials in 
their satchels, set ott on their tramp over the moors. 
They crossed the common, where Lorraine had 
stood among the thistles for “Kilmeny”, and came 
to “the little grey church on the windy hill”, which 
Mr. Castleton had chosen as the scene for his illus- 
trations to “The Forsaken Merman The sound 
of the organ came through the open door, and, 
peeping in, Lorraine could see Morland’s golden 
hair gleaming like a saint’s halo in the chancel, 
and caught a glimpse of Landry’s perfect profile 
as he sat listening in the dusty gallery. 

“Shall we go and speak to them?” asked 
Margaret Lindsay. 

“No,” said Lorraine emphatically. “I’m not 
friends with Morland to-day. He promised to 
practise an accompaniment with me last night, 
and he never turned up. I shall just leave him 
to himself. He’s a bad boy!” 


Madame Bertier 


151 

“He has his limitations!” agreed Margaret. 

The breath of early spring was in the air as they 
walked through the cluster of houses termed by 
courtesy “the village”, and, climbing a stile, took 
the path along the cliffs. On such days the sap 
seems to rise in human beings as well as in the 
vegetable world. Lorraine literally danced along. 
Margaret Lindsay’s artist eyes were busy register- 
ing impressions of sunlight on pearly stretches of 
sea, or effects of green sward and grey rock in 
shadow. 

“The Cornish coast in February is perfect,” 
she decided, “and it’s so delightfully quiet. 
Heaven defend me from the ‘ fashionable resort ’, 
which is some people’s idea of the seaside. I 
read the most delicious poem once. It began — 

She was a lady of high degree, 

A poor and unknown artist he. 

‘ Paint me,’ she said, ‘a view of the sea.* 

So he painted the sea as it looked the day 
When Aphrodite arose from its spray, 

And as she gazed on its face the while, 

It broke in its countless dimpled smile. 

‘ What a poky, stupid picture ! ’ said she. 

‘ It isn’t anything like the seal’ 

The wretched artist, in several more verses of 
poetry which I forget, paints the sea in every 
possible effect of storm and calm, all to the scorn 
of the lady, who decides — 

‘ I don’t believe he can paint the sea!’ 

But in desperation he makes a final dash for her 
patronage, probably, poor man, being hard up. 


»52 


Head Girl at The Gables 


So he painted a stretch of hot brown sand, 

With a big hotel on either hand, 

And a handsome pavilion for the band. 

Not a trace of the water to be seeti, . 

Except one faint little streak of green. 

‘ What a perfectly exquisite picture ! ’ said she, 

‘ The very image of the sea ! ’ ” 

Lorraine laughed. 

“ No one can accuse Tangy Point of pavilions 
and big hotels! We seem quite alone in the world, 
up on these cliffs. I haven’t seen a solitary person 
since we left the village.” 

“ Which remark has instantly conjured up some- 
body. Look on the shore below us — no, to the 
left, down there. I see the flutter of a feminine 
skirt — yes, and masculine trousers too! He’s get- 
ting out of a boat, and going to speak to her. 
Actually a kiss ! How touching! They don’t know 
that there are spectators on the cliffs. We must 
be hundreds of feet above them. They look like 
specks!” 

“I brought the field-glasses,” said Lorraine, 
opening her satchel. “ It brings that couple as 
close and clear as possible. Why, I know that 
grey costume and that crimson toque. It’s Madame 
Bertier, as large as life! Look for yourself. 
Carina!” 

Margaret Lindsay readjusted the glasses to her 
sight and focused them on the figures below. 

“ There’s not a doubt about it!” she pronounced. 
“ I can almost hear her broken English! Who's 
the man?” 


Madame Bertier 


*53 

Lorraine stood frowning with concentrated 
thought. 

“That’s what is puzzling me! His face is so 
absolutely familiar. I know I’ve seen him before, 
somewhere, and yet, for the life of me, I can’t 
remember where. It’s one of those aggravating 
half-memories that haunt one. I’d like to try 
throwing down a stone to attract their attention.” 

“ I shouldn’t on any account. Let’s leave them 
to it, and go and find a place to take our sketch. 
We shall lose this effect of sunshine, if we’re not 
quick. Madame Bertier doesn’t interest me enough 
to make me waste valuable time in watching her 
flirtations.” 

“ But I wish I could remember who the man is!” 
ruminated Lorraine, with knitted brows. 

“He’s certainly not worth bothering your head 
about! Come along and sketch!” 


CHAPTER XII 

The Sensation Bureau 


“Look here!” said Vivien one day in recreation 
time, “ I think this school’s a very second-rate sort 
of show. We’re a set of blighters !” 

She was sitting on a form in the gymnasium, in 
a decidedly pessimistic frame of mind, eating a 
piece of hard oatcake. 

“It’s as dry as chumping chaff!” she confided 
dismally. “ I don’t like my lunch!” 

“In these days of rations there’s never even 
a scrap of margarine to spare, let alone butter!” 
groused Audrey, who was also in a mood to mop 
up sympathy. “ I bring biscuits every morning, 
but they’re not what biscuits used to be.” 

“ Nothing is.” 

“ What’s wrong with the school, though?” asked 
Lorraine, with somewhat of the irritation of a nurse 
when her pet fledgeling is unduly criticized. “ It. 
seems to be jogging along all right, as far as I 
can see.” 

“There you’ve hit the nail on the head exactly. 
It’s jogging, and I hate things to jog. I like them 
to go with a swing. The Lent term’s always as 
dull as ditch water.” 


154 


The Sensation Bureau 155 

‘‘We have our societies *’ began Lorraine, 

but Vivien interrupted her impatiently. 

“Oh, yes! Those precious societies! I know! 
Every one v/as keen at first, and then they slacked. 
They always do! Don’t talk to me! I’m blue!” 

“Are we down-hearted? No!” jodelled Patsie, 
throwing up her last bit of biscuit, and trying to 
catch it in her mouth like a terrier. “ I say, Vivien, 
you silly cockchafer, why don’t you buck up? If 
the school’s dull, then for goodness’ sake do some- 
thing to make it more lively, instead of sitting and 
looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. 
What the Muses do you want?” 

“ Something to happen.” 

“What? An elopement? Afire? A burglary? 
Tell me the sort of sensation you’re craving for, 
and we’ll try to accommodate you. I’m going to 
start a Sensation Bureau. Excitements guaranteed. 
Terms cash, or monthly instalments. You pay 
your money, and you take your choice. Address; 
Miss Sullivan, The Gables. Cheques and postal 
orders must be crossed.” 

The girls sniggered, for Patsie was at what they 
were wont to call her “Patsiest”. At school she 
supplied the place of public entertainer. Her 
favourite role was that of the jester, with cap and 
bells. 

“I really have got a brain-wave, though,” she 
rattled on. “ I agree with Viv. Things at present 
are just about as dull and unromantic as they 
could possibly be. Girls don’t have any fun as 
they had in the Middle Ages, or even in Jane 


156 Head Girl at The Gables 


Austen’s times. My great-grandmother ran away 
from school to Gretna Green, but it’s never done 
now. Well, the next best thing to real adventures 
is making them up. That’s where my Sensation 
Bureau comes in. Here’s Vivien pining for ro- 
mance. Well, I’m prepared to give it to her hot 
and strong. I’m going to write her a letter every 
day from ‘Jack’, and post it inside the hollow tree 
in the garden. She can get and post hers there 
too, if she likes. Will you trade letters, Viv.? 
It’ll be a stunt!” 

“ If you’ll write the first,” agreed Vivien, bright- 
ening up. 

“Of course your ‘Jack’ will write first to his 
little ‘Forget-me-not’!” laughed Patsie. 

Patsie was gifted with a most lively imagination, 
and some talent for writing. Her tastes ran on the 
lines of cheap novelettes. She evolved a suppositi- 
tious hero for Vivien, and began a series of epistles 
couched in exceedingly ardent terms. All the most 
extravagant nonsense that she could invent was 
scribbled in the letters, which, addressed simply to 
“ Forget-me-not”, were posted inside the hollow of 
an old ash-tree at the bottom of the school garden. 
Vivien shared the effusions with her friends, and 
they had tremendous fun over them in a corner of 
the cloak-room. They helped her to concoct replies. 
The imaginary romance afforded them extreme 
entertainment. It was as exciting as writing a 
novel. They worked it through all sorts of inter- 
esting stages— hope, despair, and lovers’ quarrels — 
till it culminated in a suggested elopement. Patsie 


157 


The Sensation Bureau 

really outdid herself sometimes in the brilliancy of 
her composition. ‘‘ Jack ” had developed a floweri- 
ness of style and a knack of describing his bold 
adventures that raised him to the rank of a cinema 
hero. The girls used to wait for his letters with as 
keen an anticipation as for the next number of a 
serial. Vivien, the fortunate recipient of them, was 
envied. Several other enthusiasts suggested open- 
ing a correspondence, but Patsie was adamant. 

“ The Sensation Bureau’s got enough in this line 
on its hands. Til provide something else for you, 
if you like — a shipwreck, or an air-raid, or a railway 
accident — but until those two are safely ‘ eloped I 
can’t take on any more love affairs. Oh, yes! you 
can put down your names if you like. I’ve a nice 
little matter in my mind for Audrey, later in the 
term — no, I shan’t tell it you now, not if you beg 
all day!” 

The girls were sitting near the stove in the gym- 
nasium before afternoon school, and munching some 
home-made chocolate concocted with cocoa and con- 
densed milk. Like most war substitutes, it was not 
so good as the real thing, but it was certainly much 
better than nothing. The talk, with several side- 
issues concerning eatables, drifted back again to 
the all-engrossing “Jack ”. Vivien, as the heroine 
of the romance, assumed an attitude of interest- 
ing importance. She affected much knowledge of 
his doings. 

“ You’ve never yet told us exactly what he’s like,” 
said Nellie. 

“Well, of course it’s difficult to describe him. 


158 Head Girl at The Gables 

He’s tall, you know, with flashing eyes and little 
crisp curls.” 

Has he a moustache?” 

‘‘ N — n — o, not exactly a moustache.” (Vivien’s 
imagination was not nearly so ready as Patsie’s.) 
‘^He’s rather like Antonio in that piece they had 
at the cinema last week. He flings money about 
liberally, and he’s always jumping into a motor 
and driving off very fast.” 

‘‘ Where does he get his petrol?” asked Lorraine. 

‘‘Oh, it’s supplied by the Government. He has 
a simply enormous salary and private means as 
well. We shall be rolling, you know. I’m look- 
ing forward to having you all staying with me 
when we settle down.” 

The circle beamed almost as if the prospect were 
real. 

“ Where’s the house?” enquired Audrey. 

“He has several houses,” said Vivien thought- 
fully, checking them off on her fingers. “A town 
one, of course, in the West End, a hunting-box 
near Warwick, and a place in Wales. I believe 
there’s an estate in Ireland as well.” 

“Shall you hunt? Oh, Viv.!” 

“ Of course I shall. ‘Jack’ simply hunt- 

ing. We’re going to talk over my mount to-morrow, 
if the dear boy’s able to turn up.” 

In the excitement of these prospective plans 
Vivien involuntarily raised her voice. The previous 
conversation had been in subdued tones, but her 
last remark must have been audible over half the 
gymnasium. Nellie nudged her so violently that 


The Sensation Bureau 


>59 


her piece of chocolate fell to the floor. In turning 
to recover it she noticed the cause of the sudden 
interruption. Miss Janet was within a few yards 
of them turning over some music by the piano. 

Vivien’s complexion assumed a dull beetroot 
shade. She wondered whether Miss Janet had 
overheard. It was impossible to go up to her 
and explain that they were only pretending. The 
mistress’s face was inscrutable. She did not even 
glance in their direction, but picked out two or 
three songs from the pile and walked away into 
the house. The little circle broke up. Miss Janet’s 
vicinity seemed to have put the stopper on romance. 
She was certainly not a sentimental person. 

On the following day there was a fog — one of 
those white sea^fogs which sometimes enveloped 
Porthkeverne, when everything was veiled in soft 
mist, and even the very furniture was clammy. 
Vivien, whose throat was delicate, came to school 
with a Shetland shawl across her mouth. She sat 
and coughed in the gymnasium during recreation, 
and fingered a letter in her pocket. It was quite a 
fat letter, and addressed to “Jack Stanley, Esq”. 

“If it weren’t so damp I’d run down the garden 
and post this,” she said to Lorraine. “ I expect 
there’ll be one waiting for me in the tree, but I 
promised Mother I wouldn’t do anything silly, and 
I suppose it would be silly to run down the wet 
gaiden in my thin shoes and without my coat.” 

“It would be absolutely craqked, with that cough. 
I’ll go. Give me your letter.” 

It was part of the procedure of the romance that 


i6o Head Girl at The Gables 

the correspondence must be deposited inside the 
hollow tree, or else, on wet days, it would certainly 
have been far simpler to hand over the notes in 
school. Vivien had bnce hinted this, but Patsie 
stuck firmly to her plans, and, as she was the 
originator of the whole scheme, she had the right 
to make the arrangements. 

** ‘ Jack’s ’ letters will be found in the garden, and 
nowhere else,” she decreed. 

So Lorraine, who was sufficiently interested to 
want to hear the next instalment supplied by 
Patsie’s fertile imagination, ran out into the fog 
and among the dripping bushes down the path 
that edged the lawn. The pillar-box was moist 
and earwiggy; she wetted and soiled her sleeve 
by reaching down into it. At the bottom, in 
company with a fat spider and several woodlice, 
lay a letter addressed in a bold hand to ‘‘My 
Forget-me-not”. She exchanged it for Vivien’s 
epjstle and scudded off through the damp mist 
back to the gymnasium. If any eyes were watch- 
ing as she passed the study window and came in 
by the side door, it was much too foggy for her 
to see clearly. As she handed the letter to her 
waiting cousin she noticed that the envelope was 
not gummed down securely. 

“ Hallo, ‘Jack’s’ been in a hurry with this,” she 
commented. “ It isn’t properly stuck.” 

“ Perhaps it’s the damp that’s melted the 
said Vivien, pulling out the contents impatiently. 

Jack’s correspondence, though addressed to her, 
was common property. Several heads bent over 


The Sensation Bureau 


i6i 


the closely-written sheet, eager for what might be 
termed “the next episode” of the romance. The 
letter was dated “The Grand Hotel ” and began: 

“ My Own Darlingest Forget-me-not, 

“ It is twenty-four hours since I last wrote 
to you, and the time has seemed an eternity. How 
I manage to live without your presence I cannot 
imagine. Life apart from you is a blank wilder- 
ness. I wander by the sad sea waves, and were 
it not for the fond hope of meeting you again I 
should cast myself into them and perish. Forget- 
me-not, my ownest own, I can stand this misery 
no longer. Surely the clouds that have separated 
us may now be blown apart, and again I can bask 
in the sunshine of your smile? If you can forgive 
me, meet me alone at twilight in the old familiar 
spot on the beach, that hallowed place where we 
first gazed into each other’s eyes and vowed 
fidelity. I have a plan to propose, but I dare not 
write it: I must tell it to you in words and beg for 
your favour on my knees. I shall be there, await- 
ing your approach with burning anxiety, and long- 
ing to clasp you in these fond arms. 

“ With all the love in the wide world, 

“Your most devoted slave, 

“Jack.” 

The girls giggled. 

“ He’s worse than ever this time,” said Audrey. 

“Got it badly,” agreed Nellie. 

“ I wonder what his plan is,” grinned Claire. 

(0 976) 11 


i62 Head Girl at The Gables 

“ I say, Patsie, what’s ‘Jack’ going to do next?” 

“ Wait and see,” remarked Patsie calmly. “ I'm 
not going to give away his secrets beforehand. It 
will all unfold itself in due time.” 

“ History essays, please!” said Claudia, who was 
working monitress for the week, and whose duty it 
was to collect the exercise-books and give them to 
Miss Kingsley. “ Don’t be all day about it, I’m in 
a hurry!” 

“Here’s mine,” answered Lorraine. “And do 
you mind giving this note to Morland? It’s a list 
of pieces by that new Russian composer, Vladi — 
something — ski. Rosemary sent it for him.” 

“ Right you are!” said Claudia. “ He’s mad on 
Russian music just at present.” 

The bell rang at that moment and the girls 
trooped upstairs to their class-room. They had 
taken their seats, and Miss Turner was just in the 
act of opening her Latin book when Miss Janet 
came bustling in. Miss Janet’s moods varied. 
This morning the corners of her mouth were tucked 
in and her eyes were inscrutable. The form in- 
stantly set her mental register at “stormy”. 

“Stand up, girls!” she commanded briskly. 
“ Move from your desks and form into line over 
there, facing me!” 

Exceedingly astonished, the form obeyed. 

“ Now each of you turn up your feet so as to show 
me the soles of your shoes, right first, then left. 
Thank you! Lorraine, whose shoes are damp, 
will go downstairs and change into her gymnasium 
shoes: the rest may take their seats.” 


The Sensation Bureau 163 

Very much mystified the girls returned to their 
desks. Miss Janet departed, and Lorraine ran 
down to effect the required change. She could 
not understand Miss Janet’s fussy solicitude for 
her health. She did not remember that the form 
had ever been examined thus for damp feet. She 
could only conclude that Miss Janet, who was apt 
to take sudden whims, had been studying a treatise 
on hygiene. At eleven o’clock she had a further 
surprise. Miss Paget brought her a message 
telling her to report herself to Miss Kingsley in 
the study. Wondering what was the matter, she 
answered the summons at once. She found Miss 
Kingsley and Miss Janet sitting together at the 
table with trouble writ large on their faces. The 
mental atmosphere of the room cut her like a knife, 
it was so unmistakably hostile. 

“ Lorraine,” began Miss Kingsley sternly, “ I’ve 
sent for you to ask you a straight question, and 
I expect a straight answer. Did you to-day bring 
to school a letter addressed to — er — a member of 
the opposite sex?” 

Utterly amazed, Lorrainti hesitated, then, remem- 
bering her note to Morland, replied ; 

‘‘Yes, Miss Kingsley.” 

She wondered how the head mistress had got 
to know about it. Had Claudia been so careless 
as to leave it inside her exercise-book? 

Miss Kingsley’s glance was hypnotic in its in- 
tensity. The corners of Miss Janet’s mouth twitched 
nervously. 

“I’m glad you are candid enough to confess 


i64 Head Girl at The Gables 

it, though I have ample proof against you. You^ 
Lorraine! Yott^ whom I chose as head girl, and 
leader for the rest of the school! I’ve never been 
so bitterly disappointed in anybody!” 

Miss Kingsley’s voice trembled as she spoke. 

*‘You might at least have the grace to look 
ashamed of yourself!” added Miss Janet. 

Lorraine was staggered, but not ashamed. She 
could not see that the occasion warranted such 
sweeping condemnation. 

“ It was a very harmless letter ” she began 

in self-justification. 

“Harmless!” blazed Miss Kingsley. “If this 
is your idea of correspondence, I’m disgusted with 
you. I call it most unmaidenlyV' 

“ I don’t know what modern girls are coming 
to!” echoed Miss Janet. “In my young days 
they held very different standards.” 

“ It will be my duty,” continued Miss Kingsley 
grimly, “ to inform your mother of this disgraceful 
correspondence.” 

“ But Mother knows! ” gasped Lorraine. 

“ She knows?” 

“Yes, she saw me write the letter.” 

“ Did she read it?” 

“ No, she didn’t ask to.” 

“ Is she aware what you wrote in it?” 

“ I expect so.” 

“Lorraine, I can’t believe you! I know Mrs. 
Forrester too well to imagine that she would allow 
you to carry on such a clandestine correspondence 
as this.” 


The Sensation Bureau 165 

“ But Mother likes Morland,” persisted Lorraine, 

and 1 had to write to him, to send him Rosemary’s 
list of pieces. She asked me to let him have them 
soon.” 

Miss Kingsley looked frankly puzzled. 

“Morland?” she said inquiringly. “The letter 
is addressed to an individual named ‘Jack’.” 

Then a great light broke across Lorraine. In 
her relief she almost laughed. Her suppressed 
chuckle was fortunately taken for a subdued sob. 

“Oh, Miss Kingsley!” she cried. “Did you 
get the letter out of the hollow tree?” 

The head mistress nodded gravely. 

“ Then it’s all a mistake — it wasn’t — written to 
anybody real. It was only a little bit of fun we 
had among ourselves. Pa — I mean one of us — 
made up ‘Jack’ and wrote his letters, and another 
of us answered them. It was only nonsense!” 

“ Did you write this?” asked Miss Janet grimly, 
handing a sheet of note-paper across the table. 

It was in Vivien’s handwriting, which bore a 
strong resemblance to Lorraine’s own, and it was 
couched in terms strong enough certainly to rouse 
a flutter in the breast of a careful schoolmistress. 
It mourned Jack’s absence, referred to turtle doves, 
Cupid’s arrows, and other tender things, thanked 
him for handsome presents, and looked forward 
rapturously to the next meeting with him. It 
ended with fondest love, and was signed: “Your 
little Forget-me-not ”. 

“No, I didn’t write it,” answered Lorraine. 

“ Then who did?” 


66 Head Girl at The Gables 


Lorraine hesitated. 

“As it was only a joke, will you please excuse 
my not answering? It doesn’t seem quite fair to 
give anybody else away. The whole form were 
in it, really.” 

Miss Kingsley fixed her with a glance which 
Lorraine afterwards described as that of a lion- 
tamer. Then she summed up: 

“As you all seem to have been equally foolish, 
I’ll let the matter stand at that. But I wish to 
say that I’ve never in my life read more perfectly 
idiotic, senseless, worthless drivel than is contained 
in these silly letters, and if that’s your idea of 
amusement. I’m sorry for you! I should have 
thought that you^ Lorraine, would have been above 
such nonsense, and would have used your influ- 
ence to interest the girls in something more sen- 
sible. These letters must be stopped at once. I 
distinctly forbid anything more of the sort, and 
you may tell the others so. Do you understand?” 

Miss Kingsley, as she spoke, tore ‘Jack’s’ latest 
effusion into shreds, and threw the bits into the 
waste-paper basket. 

A very dejected and indignant Sixth Form listened 
to Lorraine’s account of the interview. 

“ Miss Janet must have fished some of the letters 
out of that tree, and read them and put them back! ” 

“ What a sneaking trick of her! ” 

“And she thought it was you, because you’d 
got your feet wet.” 

“Sporting of her to examine our shoes! It’s 
like Sherlock Holmes!” 


The Sensation Bureau 


167 


“Sporting! I call it disgusting! ” 

“ Is poor darling ‘Jack’ never to write again to 
his little ‘ Forget-me-not’?” demanded Vivien, with 
a note of tragedy in her voice. 

“We’d better drown him, or kill him at the 
front, or let him die suddenly of pneumonia! ” said 
Patsie sadly. “ Then you can look decently sorry 
for a while. It really is too bad, just when I was 
working up so nicely for the elopement! He was 
buying a new car on purpose. Never mind ! I’ll 
write a novel some day, when I’ve left school, and 
I’ll put all the letters in — every scrap of them. And 
when it’s published. I’ll send a copy of it to Miss 
Janet!” 

“ Oh! ” thrilled the excited circle. 

“She’ll say then: ‘The dear girl! I always 
said she was clever, and would turn out a famous 
authoress!’ People generally say afterwards that 
they ‘ always said ’.” 

“Oh, Patsie! It ivtli be so delightful! Do 
begin it soon ! ” 

“ Not till I leave school, and that’s a whole term 
and a half off, with the Easter holidays thrown in. 
You’ll have to wait I ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


Rosemary’s Secret 

The fresh year flew on wings. The snowdrops — 
fair maids of February — faded in the school garden, 
and their pale, ethereal, green-tipped blossoms were 
replaced by golden daffodils that seemed to reflect 
the stronger sunshine. Mezereon and other fragrant 
shrubs put out sweet-scented flowers, and the great 
white arum lilies were throwing up their sheaths. 
Violets and early primroses might be searched 
for under sheltered hedgerows, and the Japanese 
cherry-trees were bursting into bud. Mother 
Nature seemed to be shaking her garments, and 
getting ready for the great carnival of Spring. 

With the longer days, Lorraine was often up at 
Windy Howe. It was the sort of household where 
you could arrive at any time without presenting an 
apology for your intrusion. 

“You must take us just as you find us,” said 
Claudia. “You know I’m glad to see you, Lor- 
raine, but I shan’t treat you as a visitor, and have 
you shown into the drawing-room. You don’t 
mind?” 

Claudia was sitting in the nursery, rocking the 

16S 


169 


Rosemary’s Secret 

latest addition to the Castleton family, a tiny white 
bundle, with golden down on its pink head. She 
nursed it dutifully, patting its back with the experi- 
ence gained with seven other younger brothers and 
sisters. 

‘‘Yes, it’s rather sweet,” she agreed, in answer 
to a comment from Lorraine. “I’d like them all 
right if they didn’t cry so much; it’s such a nuisance 
when they’re perpetually squalling. The fact is I’m 
fed up with children. I never seem able to get 
away from them here. I’ve the greatest difficulty 
in doing my home lessons. Violet’s always asking 
me to take the baby or Perugia, and Lilith and 
Constable are generally tearing about somewhere, 
to say nothing of Beata and Romola and Madox. 
Lorraine, I’ve quite made up my mind. I’m seven- 
teen now, and I’m leaving school this summer. 
I’m 7iot going to stay at home and just help with 
the children! It isn’t good enough!” 

“ What would you like to do?” asked Lorraine, 
watching with sympathy while her friend made 
another effort to soothe the obstreperous new little 
brother to sleep. 

“I don’t know!” said Claudia forlornly. “I 
don’t seem good for anything except to do odd 
jobs. Perhaps I’ll go on the land. It would be 
a change to make hay and hoe turnips. I should 
be away from Violet, anyhow. We’ve been squab- 
bling again dreadfully of late. I can’t stand it 
much longer. If Morland’s called up. I’m going 
off too. I don’t care where!” 

She spoke resentfully, almost desperately; Lor- 


170 


Head Girl at The Gables 


raine had not seen her in such a mood before. She 
had sometimes guessed that her friend was not 
altogether happy at home, though until to-day 
she had never received such a big slice of Claudia’s 
confidence. 

“Couldn’t you go to college — or to study some- 
thing?” she suggested vaguely. 

The baby w^as crying so lustily that conversation 
w^as difficult. Claudia’s remarks were punctuated 
by the regular tap-tap of the rockers on her chair. 

“I’ve asked Father, but it’s no use; he won’t 
send me. He says it’s Beata’s and Romola’s turn 
now, and they must go to school. Life’s horrid — 
I just hate it all !” 

The baby, lifting up a despairing wail, also 
protested against the evils of existence. 

“Poor little man! He doesn’t like life either!” 
soothed Claudia. “There! There! Are his toes 
cold? Sissie’ll warm them for him. It’s no use; 
I shall have to take him to Violet, and she’s trying 
to write letters!” 

This little peep behind the scenes at Windy 
How’e made Lorraine feel worried about Claudia. 
The next time she w^ent to the studio by the 
harbour, she talked the matter over. Margaret 
Lindsay knew the Castleton family so well that 
she might be counted upon for advice. 

“Claudia’s simply fed up!” explained Lorraine. 
“It’s partly the children, but principally Violet. 
I don’t think I should like to live with Violet 
myself.” 

“Perhaps not, yet she has her good points. 


Rosemary’s Secret 171 

On the whole I think she’s very decent to all 
those step-children. With her own little tribe 
as well, it must be difficult to manage the house- 
hold. But I sympathize with Claudia. When 
she leaves school I’m sure it will be far the best 
plan for her to go away from home for a while.” 

“ But her father won’t let her!” 

‘‘Suppose she could win a scholarship? I fancy 
that would smooth the way.” 

“Oh, do you think she could?” 

“Suppose you ask iNIiss Kingsley if she can 
suggest any career for Claudia? She’s sure to be 
interested in her pupils’ plans for the future. I 
certainly think it’s a shame for the girl to be 
kept at home acting nursemaid to the younger 
ones. I’d willingly tackle Mr. Castleton some 
day and have a little talk with him about Claudia, 
if there’s any plan to propose. I knew her own 
mother, so that gives me a pull. I’d speak to 
Violet, too. I dare say she’d be quite nice about 
it.” 

“ Oh, Carina, I wish you would! I think Claudia 
has a wretched time. Do you know, the children 
got hold of the album I gave her for her birthday, 
and they scribbled all over it? And Violet didn’t 
even scold them. Wasn’t it trying? She lets them 
scramble about everywhere and do what they like. 
Claudia's so worried, she says her hair’s beginning 
to fall out.” 

“ I didn’t know her hair was falling out. She’d 
better cut it short, in that case. She mustn’t on 
any account let that lovely hair be neglected.’’ 


172 


Head Girl at The Gables 


Miss Kingsley, on being appealed to, was deeply 
interested. She talked things over with Miss Janet, 
and they came at once to a conclusion. There was 
nothing for it but a good kindergarten training. 
There were several open scholarships for a kinder- 
garten college whose principal was an intimate 
friend of theirs. They would write about it at 
once, and Claudia must go in for the examina- 
tion. They would make a point of coaching her 
specially. In their minds the whole matter was 
already decided. It would be a splendid chance 
for the girl, so they said. That wise old Greek 
slave -^sop, who knew human nature so well 
that his fables are as true to life now as they 
were two thousand years ago, tells the story of a 
king who wished to fortify his castle. He asked 
advice, and the mason recommended bricks, the 
carpenter wood, and the tanner leather. Each 
thought his own trade supreme. The Misses Kings- 
ley were perfectly sure that Claudia, who was ex- 
perienced with children, would succeed admirably 
in kindergarten work. They even saw visions of 
her being established some day at The Gables in 
the capacity of a mistress. 

Claudia, on being introduced to her future pros- 
pects, gasped a little. She acquiesced, but did not 
look quite as grateful as her friends had anticipated. 

‘‘I’d get away from home, at any rate! And 
that would be something!” w'as all she would say 
to Lorraine. 

“ It would be a career!” said Lorraine, fresh from 
a brainy, bracing talk with Miss Janet. “Once 


73 


Rosemary’s Secret 

you’ve got your training, you’ll be independent 
and able to earn your own living.” 

“Um — yes ” Claudia spoke without enthu- 
siasm, “ I wonder what the college would be 
like? Jolly hard work, I expect!” 

“ Miss Janet says it’s adorable!” 

‘‘Oh! There are several scholarships. I wish 
you’d go in for one and come too; then we should 
be together.” 

It was Lorraine’s turn to look blank. It is one 
thing to recommend a vocation to a friend, and 
quite another to take it up yourself. Viewed 
from her own standpoint, the joys of a kinder- 
garten training did not seem so attractive. She 
began to w'onder whether Miss Janet had over- 
stated them and the delights of independence. 

‘‘I — I don’t know yet whether I want to leave 
home, and if 1 do, I’m going to study art!” she 
stammered lamely. 

I wish 1 could study music, but there’s not the 
faintest little atom of a chance of doing that,” re- 
turned Claudia bitterly. 

Nevertheless, at Miss Kingsley’s instance, she set 
to work diligently to read up for the open scholar- 
ship examination. Miss Janet kindly coached her, 
and gave up many hours of leisure on her behalf. 
Claudia was quite clever at lessons when she chose 
to apply herself. The progress she made under 
this private tuition delighted Miss Janet. Miss 
Kingsley wrote fully to her friend the principal 
of the college, and received a most encouraging 
reply. 


174 Head Girl at The Gables 

‘^The girl you mention seems just the kind of 
student we wish to procure at present,” wrote Miss 
Halden. “ I am allowed a certain liberty of selec- 
tion, and, so long as a candidate’s marks do not 
fall below a given standard, I may make my own 
choice. I am not necessarily obliged to award the 
scholarships to those who send in the best papers, 
but to those who, after a personal interview, I con- 
sider would in the end make the most successful 
teachers. There are other qualifications to con- 
sider besides examination points. Charm of man- 
ner is an extremely valuable asset in dealing with 
children; and I would rather train a girl who is 
gifted with imagination and tact than the most 
erudite student who is deficient in these necessary 
qualities. If Claudia Castleton is what you say, 
and you can coach her sufficiently to gain a pass, 
I think she may be almost sure of a scholarship.” 

The Misses Kingsley were most excited at the 
receipt of this letter. They did not tell Claudia its 
full contents for fear she might slack off work, but 
they could not help throwing out hints. 

“It’s something to have friertds at Court!” 
beamed Miss Janet, as she put on her pince-nez 
and took her pupil for Latin construction. “You 
see, we know Miss Halden so very well. I fancy 
there’s luck in store for you, Claudia!” 

“Yes,” said Claudia dolefully, as she looked up 
a last word in the dictionary. 

Margaret Lindsay had taken the opportunity of 
a visit to the studio at Windy Howe to speak to 
Mr. Castleton on the subject of the possible scholar- 


>75 


Rosemary’s Secret 

ship. He was busy painting at the time, and far 
more interested in the proper perspective of his 
background than in his daughter’s future prospects. 
He agreed abstractedly with anything that was 
suggested. 

“ If they’ll give her a free training, let iier go by 
all means — don’t you think that pearly grey throws 
the cliff into relief? — I’ve no doubt Miss Kingsley’s 
right — I think that gorse-bush is an improvement 
— yes, she’s getting a big girl, I suppose — I had 
made the cliff darker, but I like the sun on it — the 
children grow up so fast — I’m glad you like that 
shade of brown under the rock, because I consider 
it brings out the whole picture.” 

Young, pretty Mrs. Castleton, on being appealed 
to, burst into tragic tears. 

“ I’m sure 1 don’t want to stand in the girl’s 
light,” she^sobbed. “ If it’s the right thing for her 
to leave home, I suppose she must; but nobody 
need say /’z»^ turned her out. I shouldn’t have 
thought it would be any more fun teaching kinder- 
garten than helping to look after her own brothers 
and sisters! However, that’s a matter of opinion, 
and I’ve always tried to do my best by my hus- 
band’s children, but it’s small thanks one gets for 
it all.” 

The examination for the scholarship w'as to be 
held in London, and candidates were required to 
fill up beforehand certain papers of application and 
forward them to the College. The forms arrived 
on the very last day of term. Miss Janet summoned 
Claudia to the study and gave them to her. 


176 Head Girl at The Gabies 

They must be signed by your father,*’ she 
explained, “and you must post them not later than 
the sixth. The envelope is already addressed, and 
my sister and I have filled in our part of the appli- 
cation. All you have to do is to get Mr. Castle- 
ton’s signature. When Miss Halden receives these 
papers, she will send you a card of admission for 
the examination. That will not be for three weeks, 
so I shall see you again before you have to go up 
to London. Be sure to go on with your work 
during the holidays, and give special attention to 
Latin grammar.” 

“ Yes, Miss Janet,” said Claudia dutifully, taking 
the large envelope and slipping it into her coat 
pocket. 

“ Post it to-morrow,” urged Miss Janet, as she 
dismissed her pupil from the study. 

The advent of Easter saw Rosemary again at 
Porthkeverne. She not only returned for the holi- 
days, but “came back for good”. The secret 
which had haunted and puzzled Lorraine since 
Christmas was out at last. Rosemary had written 
home and told the plain, unvarnished, brutal truth. 

“Signor Arezzo says it’s no use my going on. 
He’ll never be able to make anything of my voice. 
I’ve been at the Coll, two terms, and tried my best, 
but he says it’s futile— I’m only lit to warble in 
a small drawing-room to friends who are not over- 
critical, and it’s a waste of money to stop on here!” 

This was indeed a blow. It was a very crushed, 
disappointed, miserable little Rosemary who re- 
turned to the bosom of her bewildered family. At 


>77 


Rosemary’s Secret 

first they would not believe the severe decision, and 
passed through the stages of denial, indignation, 
and annoyance to realization and resignation. It 
is so very humiliating to find out that your swan, 
about whom you have cackled so proudly, turns 
out to be only an ordinary, domestic, farm-yard 
bird after all. 

Evidently the first thing to be done was to com- 
fort Rosemary. She needed it badly. She went 
about the house a pathetic little figure, with big 
wistful eyes. 

‘‘I’m heart-broken, Muvviel” she sobbed in 
confidence. 

“Never mind, darling; we want you at home 
if they don’t want you at the College! You can 
go in for V.A.D, work, and help at the Red Cross 
Hospital. It’s delightful for me to have my 
daughter back. You don’t know how I shall 
appreciate your company!” 

“ But I feel I’m such a failure!” 

“Not at all! You simply haven’t slipped into 
your right niche yet. People sometimes make bad 
shots before they find their vocations. Cheer up! 
Your singing is a great pleasure to us, if it’s not 
fit for a concert platform.” 

“ I never want to sing another note in all my 
life!” declared Rosemary. 

Little by little details of the tragedy leaked out. 
Lorraine heard many of them, sitting on her sister’s 
bed, while Rosemary ruefully unpacked the boxes 
of music and the tea-things and all the other trea- 
sured trifles she had taken to the College. 

(C975) i2 


178 Head Girl at The Gables 


He says I haven’t the physique for a singer. 
I’ve not got enough ‘puff’ in my lungs. You 
should see Maudie Canning, his favourite pupil. 
She has the most enormous chest, and such a 
throat! Just look at mine!” (Rosemary was 
examining herself in the glass as she spoke.) “ It 
stands to reason, if an organ hasn’t proper pipes 
and bellows, it can’t sound. You want such a big 
voice to fill a concert-hall.” 

“ But couldn’t you go on with music just for 
yourself?” 

“Signor Arezzo doesn’t care to bother with 
amateurs. His time is so valuable that he gives 
it all to promising students only. No, I’ve quite 
made up my mind never to sing again! Don’t 
argue with me! It’s no use, and only makes me 
feel irritable. I tell you I’m heart-broken!” 

It was terrible to have Rosemary in such a dis- 
consolate mood. It seemed to throw a blight over 
the whole family. Lorraine was immensely con- 
cerned. In her trouble she turned instinctively to 
the studio by the harbour. Margaret Lindsay, who 
herself had weathered many troubles, was an expert 
in the art of comfort. 

“Rosemary’s heart is broken!” said Lorraine 
tragically, sitting on the window-seat in the sun- 
shine, and squeezing her friend’s arm. 

“Poor child! Tell her that some of the best 
things in the world have been done on broken 
hearts! She’s very young yet, and I’m sure she’s 
wanted at home.” 

“ That’s what Mother says.” 


79 


Rosemary’s Secret 

“And perhaps she mightn’t have liked public 
singing. It isn’t all applause and bouquets. I 
know several professionals, and they talk of long, 
weary railway journeys, and uncomfortable hotels, 
and many disagreeables that show a very shady 
lining to the life. Somehow I can far more easily 
fancy little Rosemary happily married and settled 
down in a home of her own, than touring about 
to concerts. You mustn’t let her give up her sing- 
ing! She’ll make a most delightful amateur.” 

“She scorns the word ‘amateur’.” 

“ She’s feeling sore at present, but she’ll get over 
that stage, I hope. I’m not sure if an amateur 
hasn’t infinitely the best of it. I often wish I were 
an amateur artist. You skim the cream in the 
matter of enjoyment, without any of the responsi- 
bility. In six months I hope Rosemary will think 
differently, and will be the star of the musical 
parties at Porthkeverne, if she can’t shine on the 
stage.” 

“It’s a come-down for her, all the same,” 
groaned Lorraine. “ I wish she could marry a 
duke! But no dukes ever come to Porthkeverne. 
Perhaps she won’t marry at all. Some of the 
nicest people I know haven’t married.” 

Margaret Lindsay looked out far away over the 
dancing, gleaming water before she answered; 
Lorraine could not see the shadow in her eyes. 

“Sometimes it’s the person whom you don't 
marry whom you love the most: the beautiful ideal 
is never shattered by the actual — it stays up in the 
clouds always, instead of trailing down to earth.” 


i8o Head Girl at The Gables 


Lorraine was lost in contemplation of her sister’s 
future prospects. 

“If she doesn’t marry, she’ll have to brace up 
and go in for some other vocation,” she decided. 
“ Miss Kingsley says one ought to look years 
ahead, but somehow I can’t imagine Rosc*mar} 
ever being middle-aged.” 

“It’s an art to grow grey gracefully,” smiled 
Margaret Lindsay. 


CHAPTER XIV 


What Happened at Easter 

In spite of her real concern for Rosemary’s dis- 
appointment, Lorraine enjoyed the Easter holidays. 
There was much to be done in them. Morland 
and Claudia were anxious to revisit the Sea- 
Nymph’s Grotto, which had been neglected during 
the winter, so with Landry in attendance they 
chose a fine day, and had another delightful picnic 
there. Fortunatejy the tides had not reached as 
high as the mouth of the cave, and their “furniture” 
was undisturbed ; even the shell patterns remained 
as formerly, though the sea-weed was brown and 
shrivelled. That was a matter easily remedied, 
however, for the rock pools below were full of pink 
and green algse, and corallines beautiful enough 
for a mermaid’s bouquet. 

“It would be a ripping place for a hermit,” said 
Morland. “ I expect it beats a dug-out hollow. I 
shall often think of it when I’m called up!” 

“Me go to the war too!” said Landry sud- 
denly. 

He spoke so seldom that Claudia turned in sur- 
prise. 

“ No, Landry, dear, I couldn’t spare you.” 


82 Head Girl at The Gables 


“ But Morland’s going!” 

“All the more reason why you should stay at 
liome and take care of me.” 

“ Me want to be with you hothy'^ said Landry 
fretfully. 

“ But that can’t be. The Government will send 
papers, and then Morland will have to go.” 

There was trouble in the boy’s blue eyes; his 
poor dull brain seemed to be making a supreme 
effort to understand. He spoke again, still in the 
language of a little child. 

“ Landry will take the nasty papers and hide 
them, and then Morland stay at home^” 

“No, no, dear! Landry couldn’t do that,” 
laughed Claudia, fondling his hand. “You must 
be my good boy and look after me when he’s 
gone.” 

Landry relapsed once more into his habitual 
silence, but it was evident that a new and unusual 
access of thought was stirring in his feeble mind. 
He kept looking at Morland with awakened interest. 
Lorraine, watching, wondered what was the result 
of his cogitations. His own sister and brother, 
accustomed to his moods, took no more notice of 
an occurrence that seemed trivial at the moment, 
but afterwards bore unexpected fruit. 

“When we’ve made the cave so nice, it seems 
almost a pity to keep it quite to ourselves,” sug- 
gested Morland after a pause. 

“ Why, but we all pledged ourselves to absolute 
secrecy!” 

“ 1 know we did.” 


What Happened at Easter 183 

‘Whom do you want to bring here?” enquired 
Claudia suspiciously. 

“Oh, nobody in particular. Only Madame 
Bertier was asking me one day if there were any 
caves along the coast. I thought she’d like to see 
this one.” 

“ You’re not to bring that Russian woman here! 
I don’t like her. I hope you did not tell her about 
it?” 

“Of course not!” 

“ Honest Injun?” 

“Crystal clear I didn’t!” 

“It’s our secret, and nobody is to know,” said 
Claudia, still ruffled. “ Let us all take a sort of 
oath!” 

“ Right oh! /shan’t break it!” agreed Lorraine 
emphatically. 

“ Will you swear, Morland?” urged Claudia. 

“Who’s going to tell?” asked Morland huffily. 
“ What a fuss you girls make about nothing. The 
cave might be full of diamonds instead of only 
shells!” 

“Only shells, indeed!” Claudia’s tone was bel- 
ligerent. 

“ I wish you’d both help me to collect some 
shells,” put in Lorraine, trying to patch up peace. 
“I want some more desperately badly for the 
museum.” 

A duty which Lorraine had undertaken during 
the holidays was the arrangement of the school 
museum. She was the curator, but during term 
time she was so fully occupied that she had never 


i84 Head Girl at The Gables 

been able to sort and label the specimens which the 
girls had brought to her. The whole collection 
had been so far stored away in boxes. Now, how- 
ever, Miss Kingsley had set apart special premises 
for the museum. There was an unused room at 
The Gables that in the days of former tenants had 
been occupied by the coachman. It adjoined the 
house, but was approached by an outside staircase 
from the yard. It had been filled with lumber, but 
Miss Kingsley had had this cleared away, the floor 
had been scrubbed, and some old desks moved in 
to serve as cases for the specimens. 

Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet had gone away 
for Easter, and the servants were also taking a 
much-needed rest. The Gables therefore was shut 
up for the holidays, though the charwoman, who 
lived in a cottage close by, went in to scrub and 
clean. Before leaving. Miss Kingsley had given 
Lorraine the key of the museum, so that she might 
enter it when she wished, quite independently of 
going to the house. 

Lorraine spent very happy mornings there — 
sometimes alone, sometimes with Claudia to help 
her. With the aid of natural history books from 
the school library, she identified and labelled the 
specimens to the best of her ability. It was a quiet 
kind of work that appealed to her. She felt that 
the room was going to be a tremendous acquisition 
to the school. All sorts of treasures could find a 
home on the walls, secure from the meddlesome 
fingers of juniors. She intended to keep it as a 
sort of sanctum for the monitresses, and had visions 


What Happened at Easter 185 

of holding committee meetings there, and bringing 
tea in thermos flasks. 

One morning she had arranged to spend a little 
time at the museum and to meet Claudia, who had 
promised to come and help her. The trysting- 
place was the old windmill, and Lorraine stood 
there waiting. Claudia was late — the Castleton 
family were always late for everything — and Lor- 
raine walked impatiently up and down the road. 
Footsteps coming round the corner made her turn 
expectantly. To her surprise, the new-comer was 
not her friend, but her uncle, Mr. Barton Forrester. 

** Why, Uncle!” she exclaimed. “What are 
you doing up here? I thought you were so busy 
at the office?” 

“So I am; and I ought to be at work now. 
This is what comes of being a special constable! 
There’s a pretty to^do to-day! The telephone 
wires have been cut, and the job is to discover 
where ! ” 

“The telephone wires cut!” echoed Lorraine. 
“ But who has cut them?” 

“Some spy, I suppose. One has constantly to 
be on the lookout for treachery, especially in a 
place like this. If we could only find out where 
the leakage is! There, Lorraine, I can’t stay. 
I’ve got to see Mr. Jermyn immediately.” 

Uncle Barton — busy, energetic little man that he 
was— waved his hand to his niece and hurried away 
up the road, just as Claudia, also in a hurry, turned 
the corner. Lorraine cut short her apologies with 
the news about the telephone wires. 


i86 Head Girl at The Gables 


“ It means,” she explained, that, until they find 
the place and can mend it, Porthkeverne’s cut off 
by telephone from all other places. You may 
depend upon it, as Uncle says, there’s some 
treachery at the bottom of this. Isn’t it horrible 
to think that there may be spies in the town, ready 
to betray one’s country?” 

Dreadful !” shuddered Claudia. “ They ought 
to intern everyone who’s the least bit under sus- 
picion.” 

The two girls walked rapidly to The Gables, and 
went into the school-yard and up the outside stair- 
case. Lorraine had the key in her pocket, and 
unlocked the museum. Directly she entered, she 
noticed that the room was not as she had left it. 
Some of the desks and boxes had certainly been 
moved. She remembered exactly how she had 
placed them yesterday. Her first thought was that 
Mrs. Jones, the charwoman, must have been in to 
clean ; but that was clearly impossible, for she her- 
self had the key. Who could have intruded into 
the sanctum, and for what reason? She discussed 
it with Claudia. It gave them both a most un- 
canny feeling to think that someone had been able 
to enter. The Gables was practically shut up. 
Had a burglar been picking the locks during 
Miss Kingsley’s absence? There seemed to be 
nothing in the museum likely to excite the cupidity 
of even an amateur thief; the specimens, though 
interesting to the school, were of no monetary value. 
Lorraine’s glance went slowly round the room, 
and took in the desks and boxes, the walls, on 


What Happened at Easter 187 

which she had pinned natural history prints, and 
finally wandered up to the ceiling. Ah, here was 
a clue at last! The trap-door in the corner had 
certainly been moved — it did not now quite fit 
down. There was about an inch of light to be 
seen round its edge. A horrible idea suggested 
itself to the girls. Suppose somebody was in hiding 
up there! 

The bare notion blanched their cheeks. With 
one accord they fled from the room, locked the door 
on the outside, and scurried down the steps. In 
the yard they paused. What was to be done next? 
They did not feel capable of tackling a possible 
burglar unaided, yet it seemed rather weak to run 
away. 

‘‘ Let’s fetch Morland!” said Claudia. 

The suggestion seemed a good one. Lorraine 
was only too content to throw herself upon mascu- 
line aid. They walked at double speed to Windy 
Howe, and hauled Morland from the piano. He 
stopped in the middle of a Brahms sonata, and 
offered at once to go back with them to the 
school. 

“ You see. Miss Kingsley and everybody’s away, 
and there’s only the charwoman about,” explained 
Lorraine. “I know she’d be worse scared than 
ourselves if we told her.” 

“ Right-0 ! I’ll go and investigate,” agreed 
Morland, rather pleased to show his courage 
before the girls. 

So they all three went back to the museum, and 
here Morland placed desks and boxes together. 


i88 Head Girl at The Gables 


and mounted on them so as to reach the trap-door, 
through which he wriggled. The girls held the 
pile steady, and watched his long legs disappear 
through the opening. 

‘Mt leads on to the roof!” he shouted. '‘I’ll 
climb up and explore. I’m in a sort of garret 
with a ladder in the corner.” 

To the waiting girls it seemed a very long time 
before Morland returned. At last, however, they 
heard his footsteps overhead, and he called to them 
to hold the erection while he came down. It was 
with a sense of relief that they saw his boots issue 
through the trap-door. They had had an idea that 
he might have disappeared for ever. 

“Well?” 

“ Did you see anybody?” 

Morland shook his head. He was dusting his 
sleeves, and trying to rub the dirt off his hands. 

“I didn’t catch a burglar, but I’ve made a 
discovery,” he said slowly. 

“ What?” 

The girls were half-frightened, half-thrilled. 

“I’ve been on the roof. Did you know the 
telephone wires run over the school?” 

“ I never noticed.” 

“ Well, they do. And what’s more, they’ve been 
cut!” 

“ Great Scott!” 

“Whoever did it has been very clever. It was 
a unique spot to get at them, and impossible to 
be seen from the road.” 

“I must tell Uncle Barton at onceV" gasped 


What Happened at Easter 189 

Lorraine breathlessly. “It’s exactly what he was 
wanting to find out!” 

“We’d better ask Mrs. Jones if anybody has 
been hanging about the place,” suggested Claudia. 

The charwoman, on being interviewed, assured 
them that nobody had been to the school. There 
was only one key to the museum, so it could 
not have been entered in their absence. 

“Did you leave the window open?” asked Mor- 
land of Lorraine. 

“ I believe I did, just a little at the top.” 

“ Well, don’t you notice that the leads below the 
window communicate with one of the bedroom 
windows of the school? Any one inside The 
Gables could step out and get into the museum 
that way.” 

“ But Mrs. Jones says nobody has been in the 
school, didn’t you, Mrs. Jones?” 

“Yes, miss, no one but myself — except — yes, 
I do remember, one of the teachers came and 
asked if she might fetch a book she’d forgotten, 
and I let her go in.” 

“ Which teacher was it?” 

“That foreign lady.” 

“ Madame Bertier?” 

“I don’t know her name. She wasn’t there 
more than a few minutes.” 

“Oh!” said Lorraine thoughtfully. “Thank 
you, Mrs. Jones!” 

Uncle Barton also looked thoughtful, when Lor- 
raine described to him the whole occurrence. He 
wrote a note at once to the Chief Constable, to tell 


1 90 Head Girl at The Gables 

him where the telephone wires were cut, and sent 
the office boy to deliver it. Then he asked for 
any details his niece could supply. 

‘‘ You’re a little brick!” he commented. “ There’s 
treachery at work somewhere, undoubtedly, but the 
question is how to lay our hands on it. Can I trust 
you and the Castletons just to keep this dark for 
the present? I’d rather it wasn’t noised all about 
the place. I’ve my own ideas, and I want to work 
them out in my own way.” 

“Shall I say anything about it to Madame 
Bertier?” asked Lorraine. 

“ Most decidedly not! Please don’t mention the 
matter to anybody. You can give me the key of 
the museum till Miss Kingsley returns. You don’t 
need to go there again at present?” 

“ I’d be scared to death!” confessed Lorraine. 

In spite of Uncle Barton Forrester’s injunctions, 
the episode of the cut telephone wires became 
known. The Castletons on their return home had 
found Madame Bertier in their father’s studio, sit- 
ting for her portrait, and, being full of the exciting 
subject, had poured out their story. The pretty 
Russian was aghast. 

“It is too horrible!” she exclaimed; “to have 
happened while Miss Kingsley is away! Some 
burglar would be bad — but it is perhaps a spy. 
I was at The Gables yesterday, just for a moment, 
to fetch a book. I saw nothing! Had I met any- 
one I should indeed have been very alarmed! The 
police will no doubt keep the house under observa- 
tion now.” 


What Happened at Easter 191 

“The question is how anybody got into the room 
when it was locked,” said Claudia. 

“ Perhaps they brought a ladder. You say the 
window was left open?” 

“Yes, but it’s shut and fastened now. Who- 
ever came wouldn’t be able to get in so easily 
again.” 

The Easter holidays were nearly over, and in 
a few days the Miss Kingsleys would be back 
to look after their own property, and take what 
precautions they thought fit against burglars or 
spies. At the near prospect of term time, Claudia, 
whose spirits had effervesced lately, suddenly waxed 
serious. Lorraine could not make out what was 
the matter with her. 

“You look about as cheerful as an undertaker, 
old sport!” she remonstrated. “Something’s got 
on your nerves!” 

“ I’m in a beastly hole,” admitted Claudia, with 
a gusty sigh. “ I know I’m a slacker.” 

“ What have you been doing?” 

“ Something awful !” 

“ Go ahead and confess, then !” 

They were sitting in the garden at Windy Howe, 
resting after planting some rows of peas, and shel- 
tering under a tree from the heavy drops of a sudden 
April shower. Claudia pulled off her gardening 
gloves, and rested a delicately-modelled chin upon a 
prettily-shaped hand. There was desperate trouble 
in her blue eyes. 

“I’m scared to go back to school, and that’s the 
fact! I’ve done an awful thing! The day we broke 


192 


Head Girl at The Gables 


Up, Miss Janet gave me some papers to be signed 
and sent in to the Kindergarten College. She said 
they must be posted before the 6th. I put them in 
my coat pocket. Well — I’ve only just remembered 
them.” 

Lorraine was aghast. 

“Claudia! Your application for the exam ! How 
could you forget?” 

“ I don’t know, but I did!” groaned the sinner. 

“When did you remember?” 

“Only this morning. I hadn’t worn my coat 
during the holidays, it was too hot. I put it on 
this morning to run to the town to shop for Violet, 
and stuck my hand in my pocket, and found that 
wretched envelope.” 

“ But did you never think of it once during the 
holidays? I should have thought studying would 
bring it to your mind.” 

“ I haven’t done any studying — I was so dead 
sick of lessons,” confessed Claudia. “I’ve just 
been playing about with the children all the time.” 
“Oh!” 

Lorraine’s tone was eloquent. 

“ Whatzof// Miss Janet say?” speculated Claudia 
gloomily. 

What, indeed? Lorraine did not dare to anticir 
pate what would happen at The Gables on the 
receipt of such news. Only a member of the 
haphazard Castleton family would have been cap- 
able of such a shiftless act. It was exactly what 
Morland would have done, but Lorraine had ex- 
pected better things from Claudia. 









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• What Happened at Easter 193 

Can’t you get it signed now, and send it off?” 
she suggested. 

‘‘Father’s away to-day, but I’ll ask him to sign 
it when he comes back, and post it at once. I don’t 
suppose it’s much use, though.” 

“Oh, Claudia, Pm so sorry!” 

“ Well, it can’t be helped now,” said her friend, 
rather impatiently. “The rain’s stopped, and Pm 
going to plant another row of peas.” 

Lorraine could not quite understand Claudia’s 
attitude of mind, which seemed to hold more dread 
of Miss Janet’s anger than concern for missing the 
application for the scholarship. There was a curious 
shade of relief mingled with her contrition. She 
began to sing quite cheerfully as she planted the 
peas, and, when Constable came running past,, 
she picked him up and kissed him. 

“Violet would miss me dreadfully if I went 
away. We’ve been friends the last few days,” 
she remarked later on. “ I helped to make Baby 
a new frock, and he looks so sweet in it. He ts 
a darling!” 

There was trouble at The Gables when the Misses 
Kingsley returned and learnt the bad news. They 
wrote off at once to Miss Halden, explaining the 
circumstances, but the answer came back that cer- 
tain rules of the College were very strict, and the 
governors could not consider any application sub- 
mitted later than the 6th. 

“ Also,” wrote the Principal. “ I feel that a girl, 
who could forget such an immensely important 
step in her own career, would be of no use to 

(0975) 13 


194 


Head Girl at The Gables 

US, and I could not feel justified in awarding her 
a scholarship. I am exceedingly sorry, but fear 
this decision must be final.” 

So there, as far as the College was concerned, 
the matter ended. At school, however, Claudia 
with an obstinate look on her face weathered the 
storm of Miss Janet’s contempt. 

“After all the trouble I took in coaching you! 
It’s really too bad! You’ve ruined your own 
career, and no one but yourself to thank for it! 
Why, the scholarship was as good as gained! 
You’d so easily have passed the exam. It was 
all arranged with Miss Halden, and you’ve spoilt 
the whole thing with your carelessness. You might 
at least have the grace to say that you’re sorry! ” 
“I’m very sorry, Miss Janet,” said Claudia in 
an apathetic voice. 

The mistress glanced at her keenly. 

“I doubt if you really are! I can’t make you 
out! I’m disgusted with the whole affair. One 
gets very little thanks for trying to help people!” 

Claudia, in terrible disgrace, retired sobbing. 
Later on, however, she poured confidences into 
Lorraine’s ear. 

“I’m sorry of course to disappoint Miss Janet, 
but I can’t tell you how relieved I am, really! I 
never wanted to go, and that’s the fact. I’d have 
hated to be a kindergarten teacher! I’d rather go 

on the land if I leave home at all, but — but ” 

“Claudia!” began Lorraine, with sudden en- 
lightenment, “were you going to be home-sickl'' 
“ I suppose so. I’m fond of the children, you 


What Happened at Easter 195 

know, though I get fed up with them sometimes. 
It would take a very strong magnet to draw me 
away. Perhaps if something really fascinating 
offered, I’d want to go — but not for Kindergarten! 
No thanks! Some other girl may get the scholar- 
ship instead of me, and she’s welcome to it. After 
all, home is a very nice place.” 

“ It certainly is. I don’t want to leave mine just 
at present,” agreed Lorraine reflectively. 


CHAPTER XV 


An Academy Picture 

With the beginning of a new term two very im- 
portant events happened in Lorraine’s little world. 
Mervyn was sent to Redfern College, and Morland 
went into training. Mervyn’s exodus was really 
somewhat of a relief, for he had been getting rather 
out of hand lately, and had waxed so obstreperous 
on occasion that his father had decided to pack him 
off at once for a taste of the discipline of a public 
school. Morland, who was now eighteen, went 
away in high spirits. On the whole he was tired 
of lounging about at home. He had reached the 
age when the boy is passing into manhood, and 
begins to think of making his own way in the 
world. All kinds of shadowy pictures of the future 
were floating in his mental vision, day dreams of 
brave deeds and great achievements, and laurel 
wreaths to be won by hands that had the luck 
to pluck them. His eyes were shining as he bade 
Lorraine good-bye. 

“You must have thought me rather a slacker 
sometimes,” he said. “ But really there wasn’t 
anything to urge a fellow on at home. Perhaps 


‘97 


An Academy Picture 

I’ll tumble into my own nich^ some day. Who 
knows? Would you be glad, Lorraine, if you saw 
me doing decently?” 

“ Glad? Of course I should ! ” 

“ I didn’t know whether you’d worry your head 
one way or another about it, or care twopence 
whether I went to the dogs or not!” 

“Don’t be silly! You’re not going to the 
dogs.” 

“I might — if nobody was sufficiently interested 
in me to mind.” 

“ Heaps of people are interested! ” 

“One doesn’t want people in heaps — I prefer 
interest singly. By the by, if you’ve any time 
to spare, you might write to a fellow now and 
again. I’ll want letters in camp.” 

“All serene! I’ll send you one sometimes.” 

“Just to remind me of home.” 

“Morland! I believe you’ve got home-sickness 
as badly as Claudia. You’ll be back at Porth- 
keverne before long, unless I’m greatly mis- 
taken !” 

“With my first leave, certainly,” twinkled Mor- 
land. 

As the weeks passed by in April, the artistic 
world of Porthkeverne reached a high pitch of 
anticipation and excitement. Practically every 
painter there had submitted something to the 
Academy, and the burning question was which 
among them would be lucky enough to have their 
work accepted. They looked out eagerly for the 
post, awaiting either a welcome varnishing ticket 


igs Head Girl at The Gables 

or a printed notice regretting that for lack of space 
their contributions could not be included in the 
exhibition, and requesting them to remove their 
pictures as speedily as possible. 

In the studio down by the harbour expectation 
ran rife. Margaret Lindsay had finished her f 
painting of “Kilmeny” — if not altogether to her 
own satisfaction, at any rate to that of most of 
her friends — and had dispatched it to the Academy. 

“I don’t believe for a moment that it will get 
in,” she assured Lorraine. ** I never seem to have 
any luck, somehow. I’m not a lucky person.” 

“ Perhaps you will have this time,” said Lorraine, 
who was washing out oil paint brushes for her 
friend, a messy task which she sometimes under- 
took. “ Let’s wi// that you shall be accepted. You 
s/ia//her^ 

“All the ‘willing’ in the world won’t do the 
deed if the judges ‘will’ the other way, and their 
will tugs harder than ours!” laughed Margaret. 

“ It depends so much on the taste of the judges. 
There’s a fhshion in pictures as in other things, 
and it’s constantly changing.” 

“ Is there? Why?” 

“That I can’t tell you, except that people tire 
of one style and like another. First the classical 
school was the favourite, then pre-Raphaelitism 
had its innings, then impressionism came up. Each 
period in painting is generally boomed by some 
celebrated art critic who deprecates the old-fashioned 
methods and cracks up the new. The public are 
rather like sheep. They buy what' the critics tell 


An Academy Picture 199 

them to admire. Punch had a delightful skit on 
that once. Ruskin had been pitching into the 
commonplace artist's style of picture rather freely, 
so Punch evolved a dejected brother of the brush 
giving vent to this despairing wail: 

‘ I takes and paints, 

Hears no complaints, 

And sells before I ’m dry ; 

Then savage Ruskin 
He sticks his tusk in. 

And nobody will buy!’” 

‘‘1 love PunchV cackled Lorraine, drying the 
brushes on a clean paint-rag. “Tell me some 
more artistic titbits." 

“ Do you know the one about the old lady in the 
train who overheard the two artists talking? One 
said to the other: 

“ ‘ Anything doing in children no'wadays?’ 

“And his friend answered: ‘A feller I know 
knocked off seven little girls' heads — nasty raw 
things they were too ! — and a chap came in and 
carried them off just as they were — wet on the 
stretcher — and said he could do with a few more.’ 

“ The poor old lady, who knew nothing of artists' 
lingo, imagined that she had surprised details of 
a ghastly murder, instead of a satisfactory sale to 
an enterprising dealer. But to come back to the 
Academy, Lorraine; I know I shan't get in! I’ve 
sent five times before, and always had the same 
disappointment, if you can call it a disappointment 
when you don’t expect anything. The last time 
it happened I was in town, and I went to the 


200 Head Girl at The Gables 

Academy myself to fetch away my pictures. As 
I walked down the court-yard and out into Picca- 
dilly with my parcel under my arm, I felt pretty 
blue, and I suppose I looked it, for a wretched 
little street arab stared at me with mock sympathy, 
and piped out: ‘Have they rejected you too, poor 
darling?’ He said it so funnily that I couldn’t 
help laughing in spite of my blues.” 

“ When are you likely to hear your luck?” asked 
Lorraine. 

“ Any day now; but it will be bad luck.” 

“Then I shall call every day on my way home 
from school to see if you’ve had a letter.” 

Lorraine kept her word, and each afternoon took 
the path by the harbour instead of the direct road 
up the hill. Day after day passed, and the post- 
woman had not yet delivered the longed-for official 
communication. 

“No news is good news!” cheered Lorraine. 
“Mr. Saunders had his rejection last week, so 
Claudia told me. Mr. Castleton only heard this 
morning.” 

“ How many has he in?” 

“Three — the view of Tangy Point from the 
beach, Madox wheeling Perugia in the barrow, 
and the portrait of Madame Bertier. Claudia says 
they’re immensely relieved, because even Mr. Gil- 
bertson is ‘ out ’ this year. Here comes the second 
post! Is there anything for you? I’m going to 
see!” 

Lorraine, in her impatience, tore down the 
wooden steps of the studio, and waylaid the post- 


An Academy Picture 201 

woman. She came back like a triumphant .whirl- 
wind, waving a letter. 

believe this is ‘it’. Oh, do open it quick! 
1 can’t wait. I never felt so excited to know any- 
thing in all my life! I could .scream!” 

Margaret, equally agitated, nevertheless kept her 
feelings under control, and opened the envelope 
with outward calm, though her fingers trembled 
noticeably. She looked at the enclosure, flushed 
crimson, and, turning to Lorraine, dropped a mock 
curtsy. 

“ Madam Kilmeny,” she announced, “ I’m happy 
to be able to inform you that your portrait is to 
appear upon the walls of the Royal Academy!” 

“Oh, hurrah!” jodelled Lorraine, careering 
round the studio in an ecstatic dance, somewhat 
to the peril of various studies on easels. “ I kneiv 
it would get in, Carina! I had a kind of premoni- 
tion that it would!” 

“ And 1 had a premonition the other way 
entirely. I never was so surprised in my life! 
You’ve been my little mascot, and brought me 
the luck!” 

“No, indeed; it’s your own cleverness. It’s 
a beautiful painting. Claudia says even her father 
admired it, and he scarcely ever allows anybody’s 
work is decent except his own.” 

“ I certainly take praise from Mr. Castleton as 
a compliment,” admitted Margaret. “I’m glad 
to hear that he liked it. Well, this is actually my 
first real artistic success. I don’t know myself this 
afternoon. I feel an inch taller than usual.” 


202 Head Girl at The Gables 

“And so do I, to think I’m going to be hung in 
the Academy! Of course, I know you’ve idealized 
me out of all recognition; but there’s a foundation 
of ‘ me ’ in the picture — enough to cock-a-doodle 
about. The Castletons have been painted so often, 
they don’t care; but it’s a unique experience for 
me. It makes me feel somehow as if / were Kil- 
meny, and had spent those seven long years among 
the fairies. I felt it all the time I was standing for 
you, Carina.” 

“That’s where you made such a perfect model. 
I could see the glamour of the fairies in your face, 
and tried to catch it in my painting. I always con- 
tend that one of the chief elements in a good sitter 
is imagination, so as to maintain the right expres- 
sion. One sees many apathetic portraits, and 
knows that the originals must have been feeling 
bored to tears. You never looked bored.” 

“No, the fairies were dancing round me all the 
time! You conjured them up. Do you know, 
Carina, I think fairies are your forte? I like 
those small paintings of them better than any- 
thing else you do.” 

“Those coloured frontispieces for children’s 
magazines? They’re certainly the only things in 
which I’ve ever succeeded. It’s well to realize 
one’s limitations. I’ve been so ambitious in my 
time, and wanted to paint historic scenes and 
battle-pieces, and other things quite beyond my 
powers. It’s strange if the line we rather de- 
spise turns out to be our best bit of work. Look 
at Edward Lear. He was a rather classically 


An Academy Picture 203 

inclined artist, whose serious work seems to have 
vanished, yet he is known and appreciated all over 
the world by the delightful and inimitable Book of 
Nonsense that he knocked off in a few leisure hours 
to amuse the children of a noble family whose por- 
traits he was painting. Hans Andersen, too, is 
another instance. No one ever now reads his 
numerous novels and solid books, but his fairy- 
tales have been translated into almost every lan- 
guage. Nothing so charming and poetical has 
ever been written. His is a magic flute that draws 
children of every clime and age to listen to him. 
Not that I’m for a moment comparing myself to 
Edward Lear or Hans Andersen! All the same, 
1 think I shall take a hammer and smash up those 
statues I was trying my hand at, and stick to fairies 
for the future.” 

“ I hope they’ll hang ‘ Kilmeny ’ on the line!” 

‘‘So do I, but I don’t expect it. It will be 
most exciting to go up to town and see it. I 
wonder ” 

“You wonder what?” asked Lorraine, for Mar- 
garet had suddenly stopped short. 

“Never mind! It was an idea that came into 
my head. Perhaps I’ll tell you some other 
time.” 

“ Oh, do tell me now!” 

“ Certainly not — you must wait. No, it’s no use 
your guessing, for I shan’t say whether you’re right 
or wrong.” 

Lorraine’s guesses, which were of rather a wild 
description, did not come anywhere near the real 


204 Head Girl at The Gables 

truth, which was sprung upon her a few days later 
by her enterprising friend. It was nothing more 
or less than an invitation to go up to London with 
Miss Lindsay and see “ Kilmeny ” for herself on 
the wall of Burlington House, 

“ I daren’t tell you beforehand in case it should 
be an impossible scheme,” said Margaret, “but 
your mother gives permission, and I saw Miss 
Kingsley myself, and she promised you a few days* 
holiday. I told her it was part of your education 
to see the Academy, and she quite agrees with me. 
So you’re to go!” 

This was news indeed! Lorraine was half crazy 
with joy. Though she had turned seventeen, she 
had never yet been to London. Porthkeverne was 
a long journey from town, and any holidays which 
she had taken had been to visit relations in other 
parts of the country. She had envied Rosemary 
when the latter started for the College of Music; 
now she was actually to see the great city for her- 
self, and in company with Carina, of all delightful 
people in the world. They were to go up for a 
whole precious week, and to stay in a hotel — Lor- 
raine had never yet stayed in a hotel — and they 
were to do theatres, and as many of the sights as 
could possibly be crammed into the short space of 
time. The prospect was dazzling. Monica, catch- 
ing in her breath sharply, decreed: “You’re the 
biggest lucker I’ve ever met, Lorraine!” 

Clothes, of course, were a paramount topic. 

“ I can’t let Miss Lindsay take a Cinderella with 
her to London,” said Mother, looking over the 


An Academy Picture 205 

fashionable advertisements in the papers, and try- 
ing to decide what was the most suitable costume 
for a girl of seventeen. “You want something to 
look smart in at the Academy, and yet that won’t 
get soiled directly with going about in motor 
omnibuses. Now this is a sweet dress! I’d like 
you in this, but it would be ruined in five minutes 
if you were caught in a shower; and how can we 
guarantee fine weather? Does your umbrella want 
re-covering? If there isn’t time to have it done, 
Rosemary must lend you her new one.” 

By dint of much eager cogitation on the part of 
the whole family, Lorraine’s wardrobe was at last 
satisfactorily arranged and packed in a suit case. 
She herself, in a new grey coat and skirt and a 
grey travelling hat trimmed with pink, joined 
Margaret Lindsay at the railway station. They 
were to catch the early express, and Mother, Rose- 
mary, and Monica came to see them off. It felt so 
grand to be going away without the rest of the 
family, and to hang out of the carriage window 
shouting good-bye while they frantically waved 
handkerchiefs upon the platform. Lorraine, still 
clutching in her new gloves the sticky packet of 
sweets that Monica had pressed as a last offefing 
into her hand, went on signalling until Margaret 
pulled her forcibly back on to her seat. 

“We don’t want your head whisked off first 
thing, please, and we’re coming to the bridge. I 
wouldn’t sit on the lunch-basket, if I were you! 
Let me put it up on the rack.” 

“I’m so excited!” sighed Lorraine. “I’m glad 


206 Head Girl at The Gables 


we’ve got the carriage to ourselves, Carina, because 
we can talk. Isn’t it sport?” 

“We shan’t keep it long. It will probably fill 
up at St. Cyr, so work off your spirits now, if 
you want to. But my advice is to take things 
calmly, s or you’ll be tired out before we get to 
town.” 

The long railway journey, first along the coast, 
and then inland through scenery which was very 
different from Porthkeverne, was deeply interest- 
ing to Lorraine; and if she grew tired and closed 
her eyes for part of the route, her enthusiasm 
woke again when they reached London. The great 
station with its crowds of people, the rows of cabs 
and taxis, the streets with their endless traffic, all 
seemed a new world to the little country mouse 
who was making her first acquaintance with the 
metropolis. 

“It’s busier than I expected, and ever so much 
dirtier!” she commented. 

“Yes, it’s a different world from Porthkeverne — 
no arum lilies and yuccas and aloes — only plane- 
trees and lilac- bushes in the squares. Here we 
are at our hotel ! It will be nice to wash and 
rest ! ” 

Lorraine, with a beaming face, sat next morning 
at the little table laid for two, and discussed plans 
over the breakfast bacon. vShe had drawn up a 
programme of things she wanted to see in town, of 
so lengthy a description that Margaret Lindsay 
declared it would take at least a month instead of a 
week to work through it adequately. 


An Academy Picture 207 

“Some of the shows are shut up because of the 
war,” she said, going through the list and putting 
ticks against the most suitable places. “ We can 
see the Zoo, and Madame Tussaud’s, and Kew 
Gardens, and I’ll enquire whether the Tower and 
the Houses of Parliament are open to visitors at 
present. Westminister Abbey will, of course, be 
on view, but 1 expect we shall find the monuments 
banked up with sandbags for fear of raids. Never 
mind, we’ll do Poets’ Corner at any rate. What 
would you like to start with this morning?” 

“ May I choose? Then I plump for the Aca- 
demy!” 

vSo to the Academy they went, and it was a very 
gay, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed version of Lorraine 
who walked up the flight of stairs at Burlington 
House, and through the turnstile into the entrance 
* hall where the palms are. She had seen small 
exhibitions at the Arts Club in Porthkeverne, but 
never a series of great rooms hung with large 
pictures. Margaret was turning over the pages of 
the catalogue. 

“ Oh, do find out where ‘Kilmeny’ is, and let 
us go and see her first!” begged Lorraine. 

“She’s in Room VII, No. 348.” 

It was difficult to tear Margaret away from the 
nearest pictures, but Lorraine’s impatience dragged 
her along to Room VII. “ Kilmeny ” was really 
in a very good position, if not exactly on the line, 
only just above it, and fortunately the pictures on 
either side were in low tone, and did not spoil the 
effect of colour. 


2oS Head Girl at The Gables 


‘‘ A field of poppies or a Venetian carni^ral next 
door would have utterly killed my sunset and 
thistledown!” rejoiced Margaret. ought to be 
very grateful to the hanging committee. It doesn’t 
look so bad as 1 expected.” 

“Bad! It’s the most beautiful picture in the 
whole room.” 

“ We must hunt up our other friends,” said Mar- 
garet, turning over the pages of the catalogue. 
“Where are Mr. Castleton’s, I wonder? Oh, 
there’s one in the next room — No. 407. Let’s go 
and look at it.” 

The picture in question was the portrait of 
Madame Bertier, a clever study in an impressionist 
style, showing the bright eyes and eager features 
of that volatile lady under cover of a large black 
hat and veil. It was perhaps one of the best 
pictures that Mr. Castleton had ever painted, and 
it was attracting quite a small crowd. Margaret 
and Lorraine came up, and joined the outer circle 
of admirers. In front of them stood two gentlemen 
and a lady — foreigners. They spoke softly and 
rapidly together in French. Lorraine, whose 
knowledge of that language was not far beyond the 
ordinary schoolgirl standard, could not understand 
all they were saying, but she caught a word here 
and there. The lady was admiring the skill of 
the painting, and voting it worthy of the Salon in 
Paris; one of the gentlemen admired the beauty of 
the model, the other, with a pleased smile, explained 
that it was his wife, and that, though a charming 
portrait, it scarcely did justice to the original. 


209 


An Academy Picture 

“ Mais c’est a merveille!” he said, with a quick 
^gesticulation, as he moved on to allow other people 
access to the picture. 

Lorraine nudged Margaret, and drew her aside. 

“Did you hear that?” she whispered. “That 
man in the light suit declared that Madame Bertier 
was his wife!” 

“Impossible! Her husband is interned in Ger- 
many!” 

“ Well, that was what he said at any rate.” 

“ Perhaps he was making up, just for effect. 
Some people like to tell these wonderful fibs in 
public, just to impress the outside world.” 

“ Then why didn’t he speak English, if he wanted 
to impress people?” 

“ Which man was it?” 

“That one — next to the lady in blue.” 

“Why — why — if I’m not utterly mistaken, I 
verily believe it’s the man we looked at through 
the glasses from Tangy Point: he met Madame 
Bertier on the shore.” 

“And I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him 
before. Oh, Carina! Let’s follow them, and I’ll 
look at him again.” 

But the crowd in the Academy was rapidly in- 
creasing, and the three foreigners were lost behind 
a row of ladies in fashionable spring hats. They 
must have made an unexpected exit, for though 
Lorraine kept her eyes open for them the whole of 
the morning, she did not chance to see them again. 

“It’s rather mysterious, isn’t it?” she said to 
Margaret afterwards. 

(C975^ 


14 


210 Head Girl at The Gables 

‘Mt is — if he was telling the truth. Some of 
these foreigners are queer people. Never mind 
Madame Bertier now; let us enjoy ourselves. 
Shall we get tickets for a matinee to-morrow, or 
leave theatres for the evenings? Remember, we 
want plenty of time for Kew.” 


CHAPTHR XVI 


An Opportunity 

Lorraine, after a delirious round of pleasure in 
town, returned to Porthkeverne quite tired out 
with festivities, but declaring that she had had 
the time of her life. 

“ It will be your turn next,” she said to Monica, 
who sat on the floor while she unpacked, and de- 
manded a circumstantial account of every hour of 
the gay visit. “We shall certainly have you 
jaunting off to I.ondon some day.” 

“ Not till I’m seventeen, perhaps,” the voice 
was doleful, “and that’s just ages to wait. Daisy 
Phillips has been to London three times, and she’s 
only ten ! She crows over me dreadfully,” 

“ Poor old Cuckoo! You’re a badly-used child! 
See what I’ve got for yr)u inside this j)arcel.” 

“A Japanese pencil-box! The very thing 1 
wanted! And such a lovely one! It’s nicer than 
anybody else’s in the whole form.” 

“ Then you’ll score over Daisy for once!” 

“Kather! Lorraine, you’re a trump! Oh, and 
the ducky little blue knife inside, and pink pencils! 
I know everybody’ll want to borrow them at once, 
but I shan’t lend them to a single soul! TheyTe 
211 


212 Head Girl at The Gables 

too nice even to use myself. Do say I’m not to lend 
them, and then the girls needn’t call me stingy." 

‘‘All right! I absolutely forbid them to be lent. 
Where’s Rosemary? I’ve a parcel here that ma> 
interest her. No, Cuckoo! You’re not to peep 
inside. What a Paul Pry you are! Go and call 
her, and I’ll show it to her myself.” 

Somehow Lorraine felt as if the little visit to 
London had suddenly added years to her age. 
It had enlarged her circle of experiences so greatly 
that she had begun to look on life from almost a 
grown-up standpoint. She had gone away, older 
certainly than Monica, but regarded in the family 
category as one of “the children”, and she had 
returned to take her place on a level with Richard, 
Donald, Rodney, and Rosemary. She was allowed 
to read Richard’s letters from Mesopotamia, instead 
of only having portions retailed to her; and she was 
not sent out of the room now, when Father and 
Mother discussed Rodney’s future for those halcyon 
times when peace should be declared, and he should 
leave the Air Force. She began in some measure 
to realize her mother’s daily, hourly anxiety about 
these boys at the front, and to understand how be- 
hind all the happiness of her daily life stood a 
nightmare, with a spectral hand raised ever ready 
to fall on those three best beloved. 

Trouble, which mercifully spared their own 
family, struck nevertheless very near. A yellow 
envelope arrived one day at the Barton Forresters’ 
house, and Aunt Carrie opened it with trembling 
fingers and a sinking heart. 


213 


An Opportunity 

“ There’s no answer!” she said briefly to the wait- 
ing telegraph girl. Then she sat down and tried 
to face what the short message from the War Office 
really conveyed. Only twelve words, but it meant 
the hope of a family trailed in the dust. Lindon, 
their one treasured boy, had “gone west”. Well, 
other mothers had given their dearest and best! 
She would offer him gladly, joyfully, on the altar of 
Britain’s glory! But her face seemed to grow sud- 
denly shrunken, and the high colour faded from her 
cheeks, leaving a network of little red veins instead. 

“ If only she wouldn’t try to be quite so brave 
about it!” said Mrs. George Forrester. “ It’s such 
a terrific effort for her to keep up like this! Why, 
the very next day she went to the Red Cross Hos- 
pital just as usual. She hasn’t slacked a single 
thing. The strain must be tremendous. She 
absolutely worshipped that poor boy! The girls 
hadn’t an innings in comparison with him. I 
admire the way she’s taking it, but I’m afraid 
some day it will be more than she can stand, 
and she’ll just collapse. If it had been Richard, 
I couldn’t have borne to speak of him to anybody 
just at first, yet she talks quite calmly of Lindon. 
It’s too much for human nature!” 

Uncle Barton, grown suddenly ten years older, 
went about looking small and stooping, with a reef 
of wrinkles about his kind eyes. He clung to Betty, 
whose manner had softened under the blow. Of 
the three girls she understood him the best, and, 
though she was still undemonstrative, her silent 
consideration comforted him. 


214 


Head Girl at The Gables 


Lorraine, in the sanctuary of the studio by the 
harbour, railed at Providence. 

“ Why should Lindon be taken?” she asked 
bitterly. “Lindon — the nicest of all our cousins! 
Oh, Carina, why should a splendid hopeful young 
life like this be sacrificed, and poor Landry be left 
behind? 1 don’t understand! It seems so futile — 
such a waste!” 

Margaret stroked her hand for a moment before 
she answered : 

“ It may seem so on the face of it, but then we 
don’t see the whole-only one side of it. Perhaps 
the splendid useful life is wanted for work and 
greater development in the next world, where it 
can spread its spiritual wings unhampered by 
physical disabilities. And poor Landry may be 
needed here, as a discipline to purge somebody’s 
soul, or to bring kindness to a heart that might 
otherwise have gone unenlarged. This world is 
a school to train character, and, if some of us are 
sent on quickly into a higher form, it is because 
there are other lessons to learn there. Don’t for 
a moment call Lindon’s sacrifice ‘waste*! Have 
you ever read these lines? 

‘ A picket frozen on duty, 

A mother starved for her brood, 

Socrates drinking the hemlock. 

And Jesus on the Rood ; 

The million, who, humble and nameless, 

The straight, hard, pathway trod — 

Some call it consecration, 

And others call it GODT” 


2'5 


An Opportunity 

There was one person who, Lorraine suspected, 
was grieving- for Lindon more than she would 
allow anybody to imagine. Rosemary had always 
been fond of this particular cousin, and, between 
the day-dreams of dukes and generals who were 
to sue for her sister's hand, it had sometimes oc- 
curred to Lorraine that a far more ordinary and 
commonplace romance might be enacted under 
her eyes near at home. Lindon had been wont 
to come to the house far more frequently than 
Elsie, Betty or Vivien; he had always enjoyed 
Rosemary’s singing, and had given her his photo 
in a locket before he went away. He had written 
to her often from the front, and though there had 
been no hint of such a thing as an engagement, 
it had been apparent to anyone not absolutely 
blind that they were interested in each other. It 
is perhaps much harder for a girl, in such circum- 
stances, to lose her lover, than for one who is 
definitely engaged, and can claim open sympathy 
for her sorrow. Rosemary felt that she could not 
talk about Lindon to Elsie, Betty and Vivien. 
They had always been^ rather jealous of his pre- 
ference for her, and had resented his frequent 
visits to Pendlehurst. They did not know about 
the locket or the letters. She kissed Uncle Barton, 
however, with extra affection, and he responded 
so warmly, holding her arm as they walked down 
the garden, that she somehow thought he under- 
stood. 

So Rosemary gulped back this trouble as she 
had borne her disappointment about the College 


2 i 6 Head Girl at The Gables 


of Music, and flung herself into that universal 
panacea for heart-breaks — work for the Red Cross. 
She slaved at scullery-duty three mornings a week 
at the hospital, and put in alternate afternoons 
rolling bandages at the depot. She would have 
given up her whole time to either, but that her 
mother would not allow\ 

“ You’re all eyes, child I ” she commented. “You 
must get out into the fresh air this lovely weather, 
and put some roses into your cheeks. I shall give 
you a tonic. You look like a canary that’s been 
moulting.” 

Privately, Rosemary felt as if her heart had been 
moulting, and she had not yet had time to grow 
her new spiritual feathers. The fact that anybody 
was noticing, however, made her brace up. She 
had no wish to pose as a sentimentalist. She 
swallowed the tonic dutifully, took the prescribed 
daily walk, and even, with a great effort, practised 
the piano. She could not yet bring herself to touch 
her songs — the remembrance of Signor Arezzo's 
verdict was still too raw. 

One glorious beautiful afternoon saw Rosemary 
wending her way up the hill to the Castletons. 
Lorraine had promised to send a paper pattern 
to Claudia, but had been at home all day with 
a violent headache, so Rosemary had volunteered 
to walk to Windy Howe after tea and take it. 
She went by a short cut through the fields, and 
approached the house by way of the orchard. The 
apple-trees were in full blossom; the lovely pink 
bloom stood out against the blue of the afternoon 



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CLAUUIA FLUNG HER ARMS ROUND ROSEMARY S NECK AND 


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An Opportunity 217 

sky in a delicate maze of colour too subtle for even 
the most cunning artist hand to reproduce. Mr. 
Castleton’s sketch, left on its easel under the hedge, 
and splotched with dabs of rose madder and Payne’s 
grey, gave only the faintest impression of the fairy 
scene. Clumps of primroses bloomed among the 
grass, and a thrush, on the tip-top of a hawthorn 
bough, trilled in rivalry with the blackbird whose 
nest was in the old pear-tree. They were not the 
only musicians, however. Somebody had opened 
the gate from the garden and was walking leisurely 
down the orchard — somebody in a light cotton 
dress, with the sunshine gleaming on her golden 
hair. She came slowly, and sang as she walked, 
sang like the blackbird and the thrush, for sheer 
enjoyment of the glory of the spring day. The 
clear high notes went thrilling through the air 
with all the freshness and sweetness of the birds’ 
tones. 

Rosemary, unnoticed, stood aside to watch and 
listen, as Claudia, still warbling on high A, stopped 
under an apple-tree to feed a coopful of chickens 
with some bread she had brought. The girl’s 
beautiful face and figure against the apple-blossom 
background and the blue sky made a picture worthy 
of the brush of an Academician. 

“Heavens!” thought Rosemary. “What a 
voice! If Signor Arezzo could hear tJiaty now, 
he’d consider it worth training. It has all the 
glorious tone and volume that I lack. And so 
pure and high! I should think she could take C! 
The girl looks a singer. With that magnificent 


2i8 Head Girl at The Gables 

chest and throat she ought to be able to bring 
out her notes. She has such a splendid physique. 
She’s a lovely girl, too. What a sensation she’d 
make on a concert platform ! ” 

Aloud, however, Rosemary simply said, ‘‘Good 
afternoon ! ” presented the paper pattern, explained 
that Lorraine had a headache, and asked if Claudia 
were fond of singing. Claudia flushed crimson. 

“Oh, I can’t sing!” she stammered. “Not 
really. Only just to myself when nobody’s listening. 
I didn’t know you were there.” 

“You ought to take lessons,” commented Rose- 
mary. 

Claudia shook her head. She was pinning back 
a yellow curl with a clasp. 

“That’s quite impossible, so it’s not an atom 
of use thinking about it. It’s Beata’s turn for 
music, and she’s to begin the violin with Madame 
Berber next term. Don’t look distressed! I’ll just 
squall on to please myself. Nobody else cares 
to hear me. I’m sure.” 

“ It’s a pity to waste a talent,” said Rosemary. 

Claudia shrugged her shoulders. 

“It isn’t wasted; it comes in handy to croon 
the babies to sleep,” she answered humorously. 
“ And as I’m going to stay at home for the present 
it will most probably be wanted.” 

Rosemary went home with her head in a whirl. 
A voice like that to be devoted to crooning children 
to sleep! It seemed wicked. Her experience at 
the college had taught her enough to make her 
realize how much might be made of Claudia’s voice 


219 


An Opportunity 

with proper training. Oh! if she could only have 
exchanged places with Claudia! For a moment 
a flood of wild, bitter jealousy swept over her. 
This girl had all the qualifications for the want 
of which she herself had failed. Why had not 
Providence, who gave her the keen enthusiasm 
for music, also gifted her with that throat and 
voice? 

“It’s not fair!” raged Rosemary, wiping away 
very salt tears. “Some people have all the luck 
in life. I’d give worlds for a strong voice, instead 
of my wretched little drawing-room twitter.” 

From her sister she enquired whether Claudia 
could dance. 

“Dance!” echoed Lorraine eloquently. “You 
should just see her! I wish you’d been at the 
rhythmic dancing display last Christmas. Her 
forget-me-not dance was simply a dream. . Every- 
body said they never saw anything quite so beauti- 
ful. Miss Leighton was tremendously proud of 
her. She said that Claudia was the only girl in 
the whole school who took to the poses absolutely 
naturally. She fell into them as easily as easily, 
while all the rest of us had to practise no end.” 

“ She’s a very graceful girl, as well as immensely 
pretty.” 

There was a terrific struggle raging in Rose- 
mary’s heart. She knew that Signor Arezzo was 
always on the look-out for really suitable sopranos 
to train for opera. A girl who fulfilled his critical 
conditions would be awarded entirely free tuition, 
with a maintenance-scholarship in addition at the 


220 


Head Girl at The Gables 

College of Music. If Claudia could be coached 
a little in Signor Arezzo’s particular method of 
voice production, so that no glaring faults should 
offend him, it was highly probable that, if she were 
to sing before him, he would decide to give her 
a training. 

After two terms with him, I know exactly what 
he wants,” reflected Rosemary. “I could teach 
someone else, though I could not do it myself. 
There are all my books of exercises and studies 
packed away at home; I’d made up my mind never 
to look at them again. Oh, dear! It will be like 
opening a wound to get them out. Shall I, or 
shall I not? The girl seems contented enough as 
she is.” 

It takes some qualifications for sainthood to hold 
open for another the door of a paradise you may 
not enter yourself. As Rosemary’s mind see- 
sawed up and down, her eyes fell on a quotation 
printed on a calendar which hung in her room. 

“ Four things come not back to man or woman — 
the sped arrow, the spoken word, the past life, and 
the neglected opportunity.” 

**It is an opportunity,” she mused; “an oppor- 
tunity of helping such as probably I shall never 
find again in the whole of my life. Rosemary 
Doris Forrester, you’ve got to buck up and not be 
an envious beast. You’re going to unpack that 
music, and teach that girl all you know, /say so, 
the real / — not the horrid, mean, jealous, selfish, 
contemptible part of me. Here goes! I’ll write 
and propose it, and send the letter up at once by 


An Opportunity 221 

Lorraine, so as to burn my boats. I hope to good- 
ness Claudia will have the sense to snatch at such 
a good offer. I shan’t tell anybody a word about 
it beforehand.” 

Lorraine, who always went willingly on any 
errand to Windy Howe, handed over her sister’s 
impulsive letter, quite unwitting of its contents. 
Claudia read it, flushed, and caught her breath 
with a sharp little cry. She turned to her friend 
with eyes like two stars. 

“Do you know what Rosemary proposes?” she 
asked. 

“No.” 

“ Why, she actually offers to teach me to sing! 
And oh, Lorraine! She hints that, if I try hard, 
she would write to Signor Arezzo and ask him to 
hear me, and perhaps he would be able to give me 
a scholarship for the college, and I could go and 
study.” 

It was Lorraine’s turn to assimilate the surprise. 

“Good old Rosemary! She’s a trump card! 
But I thought you didn’t care about winning 
scholarships, Claudia. I believe you missed send- 
ing in that application on purpose.” 

Claudia blushed consciously. 

“That was altogether different. I hated the 
idea of teaching kindergarten. But to study sing- 
ing! I’d l(yve it! You know how fond I am of 
music — as fond as Morland is, really, only I never 
had his fingers for the piano. I shouldn’t be much 
of a player, I know; but to sing! It’s my ideal! 
I’ll go and write to Rosemary now, and say I’m 


222 


Head Girl at The Gables 

ready to be her pupil to-morrow. Oh, it is good 
of her!” 

So the exercises and studies came out of their 
retirement in the dark cupboard after all, and 
Rosemary grew so interested in “putting Claudia 
through her paces”, as she described it, that her 
own bitter disappointment began somehow to soften 
and tone down. Claudia was a pattern pupil. To 
begin with, her voice was such excellent material 
to work upon; then she had a very world of young 
enthusiasm, and was sufficiently modest to accept 
her teacher's dicta without argument. She prac- 
tised diligently, and the training soon began to 
tell. In quite a short time there was marked im- 
provement. Rosemary, listening to her deliciously 
pure high notes, felt a vicarious satisfaction. They 
were so exactly what she had always longed to 
produce herself. 

“ I shan't write to Signor Arezzo till we’re 
through Book II,” she decreed. “If you go on 
at this rate, I think he’ll be satisfied when he hears 
you. If he accepts you, I shall be proud !” 

For answer, Claudia flung her arms round Rose- 
mary’s neck and hugged her. 

“ You’re the sweetest, kindest, most unselfish 
darling in the whole of the wide world!” she 
blurted out. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A Mid-term Beano 

Though Lorraine and Claudia might regard 
Madame Bertier with more or less suspicion, she 
was an immense favourite with the rest of the 
school. The Misses Kingsley found the vivacious 
little Russian lady one of the best teachers they 
had ever had, and treasured her accordingly, while 
most of the girls still revolved round her orbit. 
She was undoubtedly very clever and fascinating. 
There is a certain type of pretty woman who can 
be adorable to her own sex. Madame liked admira- 
tion, if it were only that of a schoolgirl, and she 
thought the flowers and little notes that were 
showered upon her charming tokens of her popu- 
larity. 

‘‘They practise their hearts upon me, these poor 
children !” she would observe sentimentally. “The 
little love letters! Ah, they are tout a fait gentillesl 
Wait a few years! They will be writing them to 
somebody more interesting than their teacher! Oh, 
yes! I know well!” 

“For goodness’ sake don’t put such ideas into 
their heads!” said Miss Janet, who admired the 
open-air type of girl, and had no weakness for 

223 


224 


Head Girl at The Gables 

romance. “ I wish you wouldn’t encourage them 
to write you those silly notes. It’s a form of 
sentiment I’ve no patience with at all — a mere 
waste of time and paper!” 

Madame shrugged her shoulders eloquently. 

“ What will you? We all have our own methods ! 
As for me, I win their funny little hearts, then they 
will work at their lessons for love — yes, for sheer 
love. In but a few months they have made beau- 
coup de progresl N'est-ce pas? Ah, it is my 
theory that we must love first, if we will learn.” 

Though Miss Janet might sniff at Madame’s 
sentimental method of education, she nevertheless 
could not deny its admirable results. In French 
and music the school had lately made enormous 
strides. The elder girls had begun to read French 
story-books for amusement, and the juniors had 
learnt to play some French games, which they 
repeated with a pretty accent. Both violin and 
piano students played with a fire and spirit that 
had been conspicuous by their absence a year ago, 
under the tame instruction of Miss Parlane. 

Madame did not confine herself entirely to her 
own subjects. She took an interest in all the 
activities of the school. It was she who arranged 
a ramble on the cliffs. 

“They get so hot, playing toujours at the 
cricket,” she said to Miss Kingsley. “Of what 
use is it to hit about a ball? Let them come with 
me for a promenade upon the hills and we shall 
get flowers to press for the musce. It is not w’ell 
to do always the same thing.” 


A Mid-term Beano 


225 


A ramble for the purpose of g’atheringf wild- 
flowers was a suggestion that appealed to the 
Sixth. The museum was not too well furnished 
with specimens. There was scope for any amount 
of further collecting. 

Since the curious episode of the cut telephone 
wires during the Easter holidays, there had been no 
further happenings at the museum. Miss Kingsley 
inclined to Madame Bertier’s view, that some spy, 
finding the window had been left open, had taken 
a ladder and forced an entrance that way. She 
had caused a screw to be placed in the window, and 
the door was kept carefully locked except when the 
room was in use. 

To Lorraine the place felt haunted. She had a 
horror of being there alone, and never ventured to 
go there unless accompanied by two or three of her 
schoolfellows. She had an unreasonable idea that 
the little trap-door in the corner might suddenly 
open, and a sinister face peer down out of the 
darkness. The nervous impression was so strong 
that she held the monitresses’ meetings in the class- 
room instead of in the museum. When the mid- 
term beano came round, she suggested that they 
should assemble in the summer-house. 

It had been an old-established custom at the 
school that once in each term the seniors should 
hold a kind of bean-feast. They met to read aloud 
papers, and suck sw’eets. Their doings were kept 
a dead secret from the juniors, who naturally were 
exceedingly curious, and made every effort to over- 
hear the proceedings. On this occasion the seniors 

(0 976) 16 


226 Head Girl at The Gables 

took elaborate precautions against intrusion from 
the lower school. Two monitresses stood in the 
cloak-room and sternly chivvied the younger girls 
to hasten their steps homewards. They went un- 
willingly and suspiciously. 

“Why are you in such a precious hurry to get 
rid of us to-day?” asked Mona Parker, pertly. 
“You’re not generally so keen on us going off 
early.” 

“ There’s been too much loitering about the cloak- 
room lately,” vouchsafed Dorothy. 

“ Bow-wow! How conscientious we are, all of a 
sudden I You’ve something up your sleeve, I think, 
Madam Dorothy!” 

“ Mona Parker, put on your boots at once, and 
don’t cheek your betters!” 

“But there zs something going on. I’m sure!” 
piped up Josie Payne. “ Nellie, be a sport and 
tell us!” 

“ Mind your own business, and don’t butt in 
where you’re not wanted ! How long are you going 
to be in lacing those shoes?” 

“There, there! Don’t get ratty I I’m ready 
now!” 

The dilatory juniors, by dint of much urging, 
were at last hustled off the scenes. The ringleaders 
among them departed in rebellious spirits, which 
fizzed over in the playground into a series of 
aggressive cock-a-doodle-doos, significant of their 
attitude of annoyance. 

The monitresses wisely took no notice. They 
were too glad to be rid of the younger element to 


A Mid-term Beano 


227 


follow into the playground and do battle. Having 
cleared the premises, they passed the signal “all 
serene!” and repaired to the summer-house. It 
was a good place for a secret meeting, for it was at 
the bottom of the garden, facing the main path and 
a patch of lawn, so that it would be quite impossible 
for anybody to come from the house or the gym- 
nasium without being seen. The accommodation was 
limited, but some of the girls sat on the floor, and 
some on the gravel in front. It had been a matter 
of considerable difficulty to procure sweets, and 
every likely shop in the town had been foraged. 
The result, though not very great, was quite 
wonderful for war-time: there was actually some 
chocolate, some walnut toffee, two ounces of pear 
drops, and some gum lozenges. The contributions 
were pooled, and shared round impartially. 

The members were sucking blissfully while Lor- 
raine went round and collected the literary portion 
of the entertainment. 

“Only eight papers to-day! You slackers! 
Audrey, where’s yours? Haven’t had time to 
think of anything? How weak! Doreen, I ex- 
pected the Fifth to do its duty. Thanks, Phoebe, 
I’m glad you’ve written something, and you too. 
Beryl.” 

“Please keep mine till the very last, and don’t 
read it at all if there isn’t much time!” implored 
Phoebe. 

“ You mustn’t read mine first!” fluttered Dorothy. 

“ Nor mine!” 

“ Nor mine!” 


228 Head Girl at The Gables 


“Look here! Somebody has got to come first! 
I shall do it by lot; I’ll write your names on slips 
of paper and shuffle them. Lend me a pencil, 
Patsie. There! I’ll stir them round, and Audrey 
shall draw one.” 

Audrey picked out at random one of the little 
twisted scraps of paper, and the lot fell upon the 
protesting Dorothy. She rose apologetically. 

“They’re not much,” she murmured. “Just a 
few ‘ Ruthless Rhymes ’, that’s all. 

Anna Maria 
Fell into the fire, 

\ She was burnt to a cinder. 

Pa said : ‘ Let’s open winder!’ 

In a river in the city 
Jack was drowned 
And never found. 

Mother said it was a pity 

His new boots went down with him. 

They ’d have fitted Brother Jim. 

.A bomo dropped on to the house and blew 
Beds, tables and chairs to Tinibuctoo. 

‘ Dear, dear how annoying!’ murmured Aunt May, 

‘ We ’d spring-cleaned the place only yesterday I’ 

Poor little Johnnie, he swallowed his rattle. 

It stuck in his throat and he gave up life’s battle; 

They could’t get Johnnie to ‘ ope eyes and peep * 

But they shook up the rattle and sold it ofl* cheap.” 

The next on the list was Lorraine’s own con- 
tribution. 


A Mid-term Beano 


229 


DIARY OF A GIRL IN THE YEAR a.d. 4000 

To-day I used my new air wings, and flew up the Thames 
valley to see the remains of ancient London, recently excavated. 
It is an extraordinary sight, and certainly seems to throw some 
light upon the manners and customs of that quaint old nation, 
the English of two thousand years ago. In the museum are 
some weird specimens of public conveyances, notably a thing 
called a “ tramcar” in which all sorts and conditions of people 
sat squeezed up side by side, and were whirled along the street, 
instead of the street moving as it does now, to convey 
passengers without any trouble. There were also machines 
called bicycles, consisting of two wheels and a saddle. The 
curator says they were much used in olden times, though how' 
people balanced on them, goodness knows ! Not half so con- 
venient as our modern wings ! Another interesting exhibit 
was a collection of clothing of the nineteenth and twentieth 
centuries ; coats, cloaks and dresses actually made of such rare 
materials as cloth, silk, cotton and velvet. It makes one 
gasp. How beautiful they must have looked — but oh! how 
insanitary! How different to our modern pulp clothing that 
is burnt (by law) every week. I am told some of the things 
used to be sent to a place called a laundry, and washed all to- 
gether. No wonder germs were spread in those days! It is 
a marvel they did not all die off from infectious diseases. There 
were also some fine specimens of dishes upon which food used 
to be served, interesting as survivals of an old custom, but 
amazing to us, who live on concentrated tabloids. The time 
those ancients wasted over meals must have been stupendous ! 
Some old school books also made me smile. Oh, the poor 
children of those days I Fancy them sitting at desks and trying 
their eyes over that wretched small print. Now, when all the 
teaching is by cinema and gramophone, we realize what a 
purgatory education must have been in the past. I am very 
thankful to be living In a.d. 4000, with all our modern ad- 
vantages. Think of having to go by sea to visit your friends 
in America, when to-day we simply get out the balloon and 
whisk over to pay a call. My new electric shoes have just 


230 


Head Girl at The Gables 

come, and I expect will be a tremendous aid to my dancing. 
I shall wear them at my birthday-party. By the by, I must 
send a wireless to Connie, to ask if she means to come to my 
party. She mentioned yesterday that she was flying to China, 
but perhaps she will be back in time. Dad has promised me 
a new best glass-sided diving boat for a present, so I hope to 
do a little ocean exploring this summer. I hear the scenery 
at the bottom of the Pacific is most beautiful — far finer than 
the Atlantic, which everybody knows now. Well, I must go 
and start my gramophone, or I shan’t know my Japanese 
lesson for to-morrow. Professor Okuto is the limit if one 
slacks. Good-bye, dear little diary. I’ll type some more in 
you another day. 

The girls giggled. 

‘^YouVe gone ahead rather far/* commented 
Audrey. “ It sounds blissful to fly, and use a 
diving boat, but I’d draw the line at learning 
Japanese.” 

“Oh, it will be one of the languages of the 
future, no doubt!” Lorraine assured her. “ French 
will probably be quite old-fashioned, unless it’s 
studied like Greek and Latin are nowadays.” 

“ I expect the children of even a few hundred 
years hence will have awful times learning the 
history of this war,” said Dorothy. 

“ Probably they’ll know more about it than we 
shall ever do. There are generally secret facts that 
crop up again after everybody is dead. It’ll be a 
gold-mine for historians.” 

“ And for story-writers.” 

“Rather!” 

“ Audrey, choose another scrap of paper, and see 
who’s next on the list.” 


A Mid-term Beano 


231 


It proved to be Patsie, and her contribution was 
a collection of parodied proverbs. She called them : 

MORAL MAXIMS FOR YOUTHFUL MINDS 

Take care of the shrimps, and the lobsters will boil 
themselves. 

Haste not pant not. 

A cockroach saved is a cockroach gained. 

A mouse in the hand is worth two in the hole. 

Treacle by any other name would taste as sweet. 

Catch moths while the moon shines. 

All is not mirth that titters. 

A squashed slug dreads the spade. 

It’s the last sob that breaks the camel’s heart. 

“ And If a child won’t learn his maxim, 

The teacher promptly takes and smacks ’im!” 

Vivien, who was fond of rhymes, had cudgelled 
her brains for Limericks, and produced the follow- 
ing: 

NELLIE APPLEBY 

There was once a schoolgirl named Nell, 

Who fancied herself quite a swell ; 

With her head in the air 
And her frizzled-up hair, 

She reckoned she looked just a belle. 

PATSIE SULLIVAN 

We know a young damsel named Pat, 

She ’s big, and she ’s floppy and fat. 

When to dance she begins 
We just shriek as she spins, 

And wonder whatever she ’s at ! 


232 


Head Girl at The Gables 


LORRAINE FORRESTER 

There is a head girl named Lorraine 
(Of which fact I admit she is vain), 

She walks on her toes, 

With an up-tilted nose, 

Her dignified post to sustain. 

AUDRLY ROBERTS 

There is a young slacker named Audrey, 

Wn>ose taste in cheap jewels is tawdry, 

Necklace, brooches, and bangles 
She flaunts and she jangles, 

And her get-up is just a bit gaudy. 

DOROTHY SKIPTON 

I know a young person named Dolly, 

Who ’s ready for any fresh folly. 

She thinks she ’s a wit. 

And can make quite a hit. 

But she tells a few whoppers, my golly ! 

The girls giggled uneasily. There was a sting 
in each of the verses, and nobody likes to be made 
fun of. Somehow, Vivien always stuck in pins. 

“We’ll make one about you,” began Patsie, 
with a rather red face. 

“There was a young person named Vivvie, 

Who liked all her schoolmates to chivvy ” 

But at this point Claudia suddenly, and perhaps 
rather fortunately, interrupted. 

“What’s that queer noise?” she asked. “It 
sounds like a sort of suppressed giggling!” There 
wn^ dead silence for a moment. 


A Mid-term Beano 


233 


I don’t hear anything/’ said Lorraine. 

“ I do, though !” 

“ It’s a kind of snorting!” 

I believe it’s at the back of the summer-house.” 

Patsie dashed up and darted round, and, with 
a yell of vengeance, flung herself upon three juniors 
crouched with their impudent noses pressed to a 
crack in the boards, through which they had been 
spectators as well as listeners during the proceed- 
ings. A fourth child was in the very act of de- 
scending from the garden wall. 

“You young blighters! How dare you! You 
deserve to break your legs, swarming over a high 
wall like that! It would just have served you right 
if you had, and I shouldn’t have been sorry for you. 
Not the least teeny tiny bit, though you limped 
about on crutches for the rest of your young lives! 
Come here at once!” 

As a speedy method of collecting the offenders, 
Patsie seized them by their pig-tails, and hauled 
them in a bunch to the front of the summer-house. 
Lorraine eyed them severely. 

“ If this had been a Masonic meeting,” she re- 
marked, “you’d have been obliged to have your 
heads chopped off for eavesdropping. Freemasons 
keep a sword-bearer on duty, so I’m told, to kill 
anybody who tries to intrude. I m not sure if we 
oughtn’t to do something ” 

She paused, as if searching for a suitable punish- 
ment. 

“Cut off their pig-tails,” suggested Patsie 
grimly. 


234 Head Girl at The Gables 

‘‘No! no!” yelled the interlopers, in genuine 
alarm. 

“ I certainly shall if you ever try to come eaves- 
dropping again. I give you three seconds to get 
back to the house. Now then — scoot!” 

The juniors did not wait to be told twice, but 
with their precious pig-tails flying in the wind, 
raced up the garden at record speed, and disap- 
peared into the gymnasium. Lorraine laughed as 
she watched their long legs careering away. 

“I’m afraid they heard the cream of it!” she 
admitted. “ It was rather clever of them, wasn’t 
it? That little Mona is the limit! She leads all 
the others. I shall make a point of sitting upon 
her hard for the rest of the term.” 

“ Solomon said in accents mild, 

‘ Spare the rod and spoil the child; 

Be they man, or be they maid, 

Whack them, and vvollop them,’ Solomon said!” 

quoted Patsie, choking over her last piece of 
chocolate. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

An Adventure 


To give Madame Bertier her dues, it was she 
who suggested the wild-flower ramble upon the 
cliffs. It was for seniors only, and it had the 
immense advantage, in schoolgirl eyes, that it was 
held upon a Thursday afternoon; Madame had 
urged Thursday and stuck to the point. 

“It was real sporty of her,” chortled Patsie. 
“ Miss Kingsley or Miss Janet always try to fix up 
ramSles or things of that kind for Saturdays, and 
then it’s taking away a holiday instead of giving us 
one. We’ve all generally got something on at 
home for Saturday afternoons, and though, of 
course, we like rambles all right, it isn’t quite good 
enough to have to throw up our home engagements 
for them. Three cheers for Madame!” 

“Bless her!” murmured Audrey, ecstatically. 
“We shall miss French on Thursday afternoon 
and I hadn’t done a single line of my exercise or 
learnt my poetry. It’s moved a weight from my 
mind.” 

“ Don’t congratulate yourself too soon, old sport! 
She’ll probably tell us to give in the exercises.” 


236 Head Girl at the Gables 

“ Well, she can’t hear the poetry at any rate/* 

“ Unless she makes us say it on the cliffs!” 

“ Oh, surely there won’t be time for that?” 

“ Um — 1 don’t know! Never trust a teacher to 
give one a real holiday! Miss Janet always tries 
to ‘combine instruction with amusement’, as the 
old - fashioned children’s books used to put it. 
Madame will probably try to teach us the French 
names of the flowers at any rate.” 

“ Perhaps she doesn’t know them !” said Audrey 
hopefully. 

There were eighteen seniors in the school, and 
on the Thursday in question they were all^ ready by 
half-past two, armed with baskets or tin cases in 
which to put their flowers. Their exodus was 
watched with envy by the juniors, who had appealed 
in vain to be allowed to join the excursion. 

“Eighteen are quite a big enough party to 
keep together,” decreed Miss Kingsley, “and you 
juniors had an aquarium expedition only last 
week.” 

“ But that was on a Saturday!” objected a valiant 
spirit, anxious to obtain a Thursday holiday. 

V Miss Kingsley, however, couldn’t or wouldn’t 
see the point, and withered the speaker with an 
extra-scholastic glare. 

The elder girls were not at all sorry to be going 
alone. They clung to their privileges as seniors 
most tenaciously. 

“We don’t want the whole rag-tag and bobtail 
of the school trailing after us,” said Dorothy. 
“It’s quite enough in my opinion to include the 


An Adventure 237 

Fifth. I hate marchino^ about in a troop, like 
trippers.” 

“Well, we can spread out when we get on to the 
cliffs. There’s no need to be so fearfully particular 
to keep together.” 

Madame Bertier^ among her many other accom- 
plishments, possessed some knowledge of botany. 
She had studied the wild flora of the district, and 
knew where to take the girls to secure a variety of 
the best specimens. The walk she chose was down 
a lane, over some fields and across a portion of the 
moor, where Lorraine, who thought she knew all 
the neighbourhood of Porthkeverne, had never 
happened to go before. As in most rambles of 
the sort, it was a difficult task for the mistress to 
keep all the members of her flock in sight. Some 
were always on ahead, and others lagging behind, 
while a few would make detours over gates or 
banks in quest of particular specimens. There was 
the usual amount of jodelling, cuckooing and call- 
ing, and running back to fetch laggers; there was 
frantic excitement over a patch of wild strawberries, 
and great congratulation when several rare flowers 
were found and carefully put away in tin cases. 
As generally happens in natural history rambles, 
there was decided rivalry among the numerous 
budding botanists. Each wanted to be the first 
to secure a new specimen and to take it in triumph 
to show to Madame. Lorraine, who was not superior 
to the common weakness, had not yet had any luck 
at all. Seeing the others heading in a bee-line for 
a small tower on the hill, and, knowing she could 


238 Head Girl at The Gables 


catch them up there, she determined to branch off 
to the left, cross a dyke and go by herself over 
a particularly interesting-looking piece of the moor. 
If she were quick she would probably reach the 
tower as soon as most of the others ; they would be 
sure to sit down there to rest and compare speci- 
mens. She would have asked Claudia to go with 
her, but Claudia was on in front talking to Dorothy. 

“ If I jodel to her it will give the show away,” 
thought Lorraine. “No! I must do it on my 
own.” 

So she jumped a dyke, scrambled down a bank, 
and in a few minutes had reached a tract of wild 
heather-clad land that adjoined the cliff. Small 
bushes, bracken, and brambles mixed among the 
heather made walking difficult, and there were 
several boggy places which she was obliged to 
skirt. This took her farther than she had in- 
tended. Looking round she could not see her 
landmark, the tower. 

“ It must be over there to the right,” she said to 
herself. “ Hallo, what a gorgeous silver fritillary! 
I’ll get it if I possibly can.” 

Lorraine was rather keen on entomology, and 
though she had no net with her, she pulled off her 
hat and ran in eager pursuit of the butterfly. It 
was an exciting chase, several times she nearly 
secured it, but it managed to elude her and flitted 
tantalizingly away. At last it paused and hovered, 
then settled on a spray of wild rose. Lorraine 
crept up stealthily, hat in hand. Surely she had 
her prize now? But just at the critical moment, 


An Adventure 


239 


again the lovely wings fluttered; she made a grab 
and a dash forward simultaneously, then suddenly 
the earth seemed to open and swallow her up. 

As a matter of fact, she fell about nine feet, and 
lodged on a heap of shale. It was so totally un- 
expected, and so amazing, that she lay there for 
a moment or two almost stunned. Then she moved 
cautiously and sat up. She realized what had 
happened. In her mad rush after the butterfly she 
had not noticed where she was going, and she had 
fallen down the shaft of an old tin-mine. Above 
her were its rocky sides, with bushes and a patch 
of blue sky at the top. Below the ledge where she 
sat it sloped away towards a black hole. Lorraine, 
still a little dazed, shuddered as she looked down in 
the direction of that dark pit. She was unhurt, and 
she was safe enough on the edge of the shale, but 
how was she to get up to the level of the ground 
above? The sides of the shaft were far too steep 
to climb, and a slip might mean a plunge down, 
down, down into that horrible depth that loomed 
below. 

She stood up cautiously and shouted with all the 
force of her lungs. There was no reply. Again 
and again she called, but beyond the alarm-note of 
a blackbird there was no response. She began to 
grow seriously frightened. She must be some 
distance from the tower, and she had wandered 
from the rest of the party. Suppose nobody heard 
her calling? The bare idea sent her breath in 
gasps. In time, no doubt, they would notice her 
absence, but they would not exactly know where to 


240 Head Girl at The Gables 

search for her. They might even imagine that she 
had gone home. Suppose the night came on before 
she was found? Suppose even days were to pass 
and nobody remembered the disused mine or 
thought of looicing for her there! With white 
cheeks and trembling hand she leaned against the 
side of the shaft and called with what breath she 
could still muster. 

There was a rustling among the heather above, 
and a face suddenly blocked the blue of the sky 
— a vacant face that peered down with the curiosity 
of a child. Lorraine gave a fluttering cry of relief. 

“Landry!” she called. “Landry!” 

How or frorn where he appeared she could not 
guess, though it was possible that he had seen 
the school passing near Windy Howe and had 
followed Claudia in the distance. He stared down 
at Lorraine with a certain amount of interest, but 
as much unconcern as if she were a bird or a 
rabbit. 

“Landry!” she cried again. “Claudia is up 
by the tower. Go and tell her I have fallen down 
the old mine!” 

The bushes rustled, and once more that patch 
of blue sky appeared above. Landry had gone 
indeed, but would he bring help? Lorraine feared 
that all he cared about was to find Claudia, and 
that with his customary taciturnity it was quite 
within the bounds of possibility that he might 
never mention her predicament at all. 

She waited a while and then shouted, and kept 
on calling at intervals. Her wrisl watch told her 



SHE STOOD UP CAUTIOUSLY 




I 


An Adventure 


241 


she had been nearly an hour down the shaft. 
Would help never come? She was very tired 
and her head swam. If she were to faint, nothing 
could save her from falling down into that black 
gulf below. Her voice was growing weaker. It 
seemed stifled inside the shaft. What was that 
sound in the distance? Surely a shout! With 
all her remaining energy she raised her voice in 
a wild halloo. Next moment Dorothy peeped over 
the bushes and turned with a cry to summon 
Claudia. 

Though she was found, it was more than an 
hour before adequate help could be fetched from 
a farm, but at last two men appeared carrying 
a ladder, which they lowered down the shaft on 
to the ledge of shale. Then one of them descended 
and helped Lorraine to mount. Madame and a 
thrilled group of girls were waiting for her at 
the top. ^ 

“ Did Landry tell you?” Lorraine asked Claudia. 

“ Yes, he told me and brought me to the place,” 
said Claudia. “Landry may be very proud of 
himself to-day, the dear boy!” 

“Tliat mine did ought to be fenced round,” 
remarked one of the men who had brought the 
ladder. “Mr. Tremayne’s been warned about it 
many a time, but he’s always put off having it 
done.” 

“ Ah yes, it m ust be fenced! ” exclaimed Madame, 
hysterically. “ Mon UcveX If she had fallen a little 
farther, what then?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders, but Lorraine, 

(0 975) 16 


242 Head Girl at The Gables 

who had been sitting on the grass, sprang to her 
feet. 

she implored. Don't please say 
any more about it. I want to get away from the 
place. I know I shall dream it over again all 
night! Let me go straight home. I don’t want 
to get any more flowers. I want just to be quiet 
and forget about it if I can.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


Morland on Leave 

At the end of June Morland came home on 
leave. He looked well in his khaki. Military 
training and camp-life had already worked wonders 
with his physique; his lanky, overgrown aspect 
had disappeared, his chest measure had increased, 
and he proudly showed the muscle in his arm. 
His father, always with an eye to artistic effects, 
wished to sketch him for a picture of Hector, 
and indeed, with his classic profile and short, 
crisp, curly, golden hair, he would have made 
a capital representation of that Trojan hero. But 
Morland absolutely struck at the suggestion of 
sitting as model, declaring that he meant to enjoy 
himself during his brief leave, and should not 
even show his nose inside the studio. 

“Dad must paint the kids,” he confided to 
Claudia. “ I’m fed up with portraits. Don’t even 
mean to have my photo taken if I can help it. 
'You remember that picture of me when I was 
about five — ‘Grannie’s Darling’? It came out as 
a coloured Christmas supplement, and was stuck 
up in everybody’s nursery. Well, they got to 
know at the camp that I was the original of it, 

243 


244 Head Girl at The Gables 

and they led me a life I can tell you! They’ve 
christened me ‘ Grannie’s Darling M I’m not going 
to be ‘Hector’ or anybody else! It isn’t good 
enough! I sometimes wish I were as dark as a 
gipsy and had a broken nose! They couldn’t 
call me ‘My Lady’s Lap-dog’ then! Do you 
know, they caught me once and held me down 
and tied a blue ribbon round my neck! I gave 
them something back though, for ragging me! 
They didn’t get it all their own way. Lap-dog 
indeed! Wait till I’m out at the front, and I’ll 
show them who’s the bull-terrier!” 

“Poor old boy, it seems to rankle!” consoled 
Claudia laughingly. “ I should think it’s probably 
envy on their part. They wish they could send 
as good-looking a photo home to be put in a 
locket! Just forget them while you’re on leave. 
We’ll try to do something jolly. What would you 
like best? It’s Saturday to-morrow, so I’m at your 
disposal. Shall we go for a picnic somewhere?” 

“Yes, if the kids don’t trail after us! I don’t 
bargain to take Beata, Romola, Madox, Lilith, 
Constable, Perugia and perhaps the baby in its 
pram ! ” 

“You shan’t!” I’ll see to that. Just Landry 
and I’ll go, and we won’t tell the small fry we’re 
off.” 

“ How about the grotto?” 

“A i! I’ll ask Lorraine to come with us. The 
tide will be just right to get round the rocks, so 
we’ll take our lunch and eat it there.” 

Lorraine, shamelessly regardless of appointments 


Morland on Leave 


245 


at the dentist’s and dressmaker’s, accepted the in- 
vitation, and joined the party with a picnic-basket. 
It was an ideal day for the excursion ; the warm 
sunshine was tempered by a cool breeze blowing 
in straight from the Atlantic; the sea had assumed 
its summer hue of intense blue-green, and the 
cliffs were covered with the beautiful crimson wild 
geranium. 

The young people loitered along in no particular 
hurry, looking out to sea at the vessels, picking 
flowers or wild strawberries, or even a few early 
dewberries. As they wound up the path by the 
coast-guard station they heard voices behind them, 
and a little party consisting of an officer and two 
ladies passed them, walking briskly in the direc- 
tion of the moors. jMorland, who had saluted, 
turned to the girls with an eloquent face. 

“It’s Blake, our captain,” he explained. “1 
saw him travelling down on Thursday, and I be- 
lieve he’s staying at the ‘George’.” 

“Do you like him?” asked Claudia. 

“Like him? If there’s one man on the lace of 
the earth whom I abhor it’s that fellow! Thinks 
he’s the Shah of Persia and we’re dirt under his 
feet! He’s not popular, 1 can tell you. He makes 
my blood boil sometimes!” 

“ He’s dropped something,” said Lorraine, bend- 
ing down and picking up a small leather dispatch 
case that was lying by the side of the pathway. 
She handed it to Morland. 

“Gould you run after him and give it to him?” 
suggested Claudia to her brother. 


246 Head Girl at The Gables 

I shan’t trouble myself. He’s gone too far.” 

“We can leave it at his hotel afterwards then.” 

“ I suppose we can, though if he flings his 
things about like this he doesn’t deserve to have 
them returned to him, the blighter!” groused Mor- 
land, pocketing the case with a frown. “I wish 
Blake was taking his leave somewhere else. I’d 
rather not breathe the same air with him!” 

“ Is it as bad as all that?” asked Claudia. 

“ Worse!” said Morland gloomily. “ But I don’t 
want to talk about him — he’s the skeleton at the 
feast — the crumpled rose-leaf — the snake in the 
paradise — the anything else you like that spoils 
my enjoyment!” 

“Rather mixed similes,” laughed Lorraine. 
“But never mind! We’ll forget him if you like. 
He certainly didn’t look at all attractive in my 
opinion.” 

Morland pulled a face and shook a fist in the 
direction in which his officer had disappeared, then 
declared himself better and ready to jog along. 

They found their special property — the cave — 
still uninvaded. No visitors had yet happened 
to come across it. The table and seats and the 
little cupboard at the end were just exactly as they 
had left them last time. They collected some drift- 
wood, lighted a fire on the rocks below, and boiled 
their kettle. It was delightful to have a picnic 
again in the grotto. As they sat chatting after- 
wards, Morland pulled from his pocket the leather 
case which Captain Blake had dropped on the 
path. He turned it over thoughtfully. 


Morland on Leave 


247 


** IVe a score or two to settle with the owner 
of this,” he remarked. “ I’m not going to let him 
have it back too easily. I vote we just give him 
a scare about it. Let him think he’s lost it 
altogether.” 

“ Is it anything important, I wonder?” asked 
Claudia. 

“The more important the better — serve him 
right for losing it. I say — I’m going' to stow it 
away here in the cupboard. It’ll be quite safe, 
but he won’t know that, and I hope he’ll be in 
a jolly state of mind about it. We’ll give him a 
fortnight to get excited in, then you girls can come 
and fetch it, make it into a parcel, and leave it at 
the ‘ George ’, and ask them to send it on to him 
at the camp.” 

“ It would really serve him right,” sympathised 
Claudia; “only I don’t quite know ” 

“Wo know!” chuckled Morland. “ It’s the best 
rag I’ve ever had the chance of playing on him, 
and you bet I’ll take it.” 

“ Suppose he finds out?” suggested Lorraine. 

“ He won’t find out. How could he? You girls 
will just leave the parcel at the ‘ George ’, and say 
someone who picked it up had handed it over to 
you, and will they please forward it to the officer 
who was staying there. Nothing could be simpler.” 

“Are those the papers that send Morland to the 
war?” asked Landry suddenly. 

“ Don’t you worry your head about them,” 
answered Claudia soothingly. “They’re nothing 
to do with you, Landry.” 


248 Head Girl at The Gables 

“I don’t want Morland to fight!” persisted the 
boy. ‘‘ Morland shan’t go to the war!” 

‘‘I’ll be off some day, old sport!” laughed 
Morland. 

“ To-morrow?” 

“No, no, not to-morrow; but before so very 
long, I hope.” 

“ Will the Germans shoot at you?” 

“You jolly well bet they will !” 

“ Don’t excite him, Morland,” interfered 
Claudia; for when Landry once woke out of his 
usual stolid calm and began to trouble his poor 
dull brains with questions, he was apt to get 
peevish and troublesome. “No, no, Landry dear; 
Morland is quite safe at present, and we won’t let 
the Germans get him. Take this basket down to 
the beach and find me some more shells. I want 
some yellow ones to finish the pattern I was making 
on the ledge here.” 

Claudia was an adept at managing Landry, and 
could keep the boy quiet and change the current of 
his impulses when others only irritated him. She 
put a basket in his hand and a yellow shell lor 
a pattern, led him by the arm to the mouth of the 
grotto, and showed him the spot on the beach 
where he would be likely to find more. To her 
relief, he departed quite happily on the errand. 
She had been afraid he was on the verge of a burst 
of temper. She turned to her other brother. 

“I’d a great deal rather you took that oflicer’s 
case back to him right at once, Morland!” 

But Morland was in a don’t-carc mood. 


Morland on Leave 


249 


“ He’s not to have it for a fortnight. If 1 don’t 
leave it in the cupboard here, I shall just chuck 
it into the sea, so I give you full and fair warning! 
Be a sport, Claudia! Here’s Lorraine ready to see 
the fun of it. Aren’t you, Lorraine?” 

Neither of the girls was really quite easy about 
the propriety of thus hiding the officer’s papers, 
but to please Morland they consented to do as he 
wished, and to come again in a fortnight to fetch 
them. After all, it seemed only a sort of practical 
joke, and, to judge from Morland’s accounts, rag- 
ging was very much in fashion at his camp, among 
the Tommies at any rate. So long as Captain 
Blake did not find out who had kept the leather 
case there would be no trouble, and they thought 
he deserved some punishment for his arrogant 
behaviour towards his men. 

It was a concession which they afterwards deeply 
regretted. 


CHAPTER XX 


Smugglers’ Cove 

Morland’s leave ended on Sunday night, and by 
Monday morning both he and his superior officer 
were back in camp. Claudia came to school in an 
unusually quiet and depressed frame of mind. 

“Yes, I miss Morland,” she acknowledged to 
Lorraine ; “ but it isn’t altogether that. I ’m worried 
about him. Perhaps it’s silly of me, but I can’t 
help it. I know I can’t expect him to keep a boy 
always, yet one feels that growing up ought to 
be growing into something better — not worse. 
Honestly, between ourselves, I don’t think Madame 
Bertier has a good influence over him. He’s always 
fearfully taken with her, absolutely infatuated. She 
fascinates him just as she does Vivien and Dorothy 
and some of the girls at school, and she encourages 
him in things he’d much better let alone. She was 
up at Windy Howe on Sunday, and took Morland 
off for a long walk, although he’d promised to stay 
at home that last afternoon. They went along the 
cliffs towards Tangy Point. Don’t think I’m 
jealous, but I really feel angry with her — carrying 
him away from his family when he’d only a few 
hours left of his leave!” 


260 


Smugglers’ Cove 251 

“ I hope he didn’t show her our cave?” asked 
Lorraine quickly. 

“ I hope not, but I think it’s extremely probable. 
Oh, yes! I know he promised to keep the secret, 
but he’s beginning to say that our secrets are 
childish, and not worth keeping. I’ve several 
times heard Madame asking him if he knew of 
any caves along the coast. If she asked persist- 
ently enough he’d be sure to tell her. I know 
Morland!” 

“ Why is she so keen on caves?” 

Claudia shrugged her shoulders. 

“There are a great many ‘ whys’ about Madame 
that I can’t answer. She’s the sort of woman you 
read about in a novel. She’s bewitched most people 
at Porthkeverne. I own she’s very nice and plea- 
sant, and when I’m with her I even fall under the 
spell a little, and almost like her, but all the time 
at the bottom of my heart I don’t trust her at all.” 

Whatever Claudia’s private opinion might be 
of Madame Bertier, that pretty Russian lady was 
very popular in the artistic and literary circles of 
the town. She was always ready to pose as model, 
or to play her violin at concerts or At Homes. 
She was capital company, had a fine sense of 
humour, and could keep a whole room full of 
people amused with her lively chatter. In addi- 
tion to her engagement at The Gables she had 
now a number of private pupils in Porthkeverne, 
and had established quite a connection for lessons 
in French, Russian, and music. On the subject 
of her husband she was guarded, but it was 


k' 


252 


Head Girl at The Gables 


generally understood that he was a prisoner in 
Germany, and that she sent him parcels. Lor- 
raine, with a remembrance of that brief sentence 
she had overheard at Burlington House, often 
wondered if that were the case. 

Madame’s Academy portrait had been considered 
quite one of the pictures of the year: it had been 
reproduced in art journals and illustrated papers, 
and in the opinion of the critics was almost Mr. 
Castleton’s best piece of work. To Lorraine’s 
great joy, “ Kilmeny ” also came in for a share of 
notice in the newspaper reviews, and one day a 
letter arrived at the studio by the harbour, con- 
taining a special invitation for the picture to be 
exhibited at an important provincial art gallery in 
the autumn. Such invitations are the swallows 
of an artist’s summer of success, and Margaret 
Lindsay’s eyes shone, as she showed Lorraine the 
official document with the city arms heading the 
paper. 

“You’ve been my mascot, you see!” she said 
brightly. “ I’ve tried to get into that particular 
exhibition time after time, and always had my 
pictures rejected. And now, just to think that 
I’m specially invited, and a place of honour kept 
for my ‘Kilmeny’I I feel an inch taller! I must 
paint you in the sunset again, Lorraine!” 

Lorraine, curled up on the window-seat, turning 
over art magazines, shook her head. 

“Don’t repeat yourself!” she advised. “Why 
not paint the dawn instead? It’s just as beautiful 
as sunset — more so, I think, and would give you 


253 


Smugglers’ Cove 

a different scheme of colour, all opal and pearly 
pink, instead of golden and brown. Can’t you 
choose some other fairy-tale heroine?” 

“Yes — the Dawn Princess! I can see her in 
imagination, standing at the edge of the waves, 
with a rosy sky behind her, and trails of sea-weed 
under her bare feet. I believe it would be a com- 
panion picture to ^Kilmeny*! If I can paint it 
in time, I’ll see if the Art Gallery will consent to 
exhibit the pair. I’m actually getting ambitious. 
Will you stand as model again?” 

“ With all the pleasure in life, any time and any- 
where you want me! I’m yours to command!” 

A good and adequate picture of the dawn was not 
so easy to paint as a sunset. They were on the 
west coast, and, in order to get the effect of the 
sun rising over the sea, it was necessary to be 
on some promontory where they could look east- 
wards over a stretch of water. The only headland 
which answered the required points of the compass 
was Giant’s Tor Point, which jutted out in a curve 
from the mainland, with the whole of Pendragon 
Bay between it and the opposite point of the coast. 
The sandy beach under its shelter had been named 
“Smugglers* Cove” It was several miles away 
from Porthkeverne, so unless they could walk there 
by moonlight, it would be quite impossible to reach 
it in time to witness from the beach the spectacle of 
dawn. A moonlight scramble over cliffs and rocks 
might be highly romantic, but not altogether a safe 
proceeding, and Margaret Lindsay had a better 
suggestion to offer. 


254 Head Girl at The Gables 

“We’ll take my little bathing-tent, and pitch it 
on the shore in some sheltered place, and spend 
the night there. There will be just room for us 
both to cram in, and with a rug each we should 
keep quite warm. Then we shall be all ready 
and prepared for the dawn the moment it comes.” 

The weather was so warm that there were no 
objections to camping-out, and Mrs. Forrester quite 
readily gave permission for the expedition. 

“You’re such a sensible person, Muvvie dear!” 
gasped Lorraine ecstatically. “Some mothers 
would have howled at such a plan. I’m sure 
Aunt Carrie wouldn’t have let Vivien go. You 
always seem to see things just from the same 
point of view as we do ourselves.” 

“ I know you’ll be safe with Margaret Lindsay, 
or I wouldn’t let you stir five yards from my apron 
strings. I could be a dragon of a mother if the 
occasion required!” laughed Mrs. Forrester. “So 
far, happily, you’ve never wanted to do anything 
especially outrageous. I can see no harm in your 
camping-out on the beach just for one night. I 
should be a very unreasonable person if I ob- 
jected.” 

“ But then you’re Muvvie and nobody else, you 
see!” said Lorraine, dropping a kiss on the dear 
brown hair that was just turning grey. 

So it came to pass that on the very Tuesday even- 
ing after Morland had returned to camp, Margaret 
Lindsay and Lorraine shouldered bathing-tent, 
rugs, and picnic-basket, and trudged out to Giant’s 
Tor Point. They arrived there about sunset, and 


255 


Smugglers’ Cove 

found a quiet, sheltered spot among the rocks, well 
above high-water mark, where they pitched their 
tent. There was not a soul in sight: they seemed 
to have the whole of the headland and the bay 
entirely to themselves. It was a calm, warm 
evening, and the waves lapped gently upon the 
beach. The sand in the spot they had chosen 
was dry, so they piled up heaps of it for pillows, 
and laid down their rugs; then, having completed 
these preparations, opened their baskets and had 
a picnic supper. The sunset had faded by that 
time, and a full moon was shining over the bay, 
glinting on the waves and lighting up the outlines 
of the crags on the headland. The silence was 
broken only by the gentle purring of the waves 
on the pebbles, or the call of some night-bird. 
The calm stillness was beautiful beyond descrip- 
tion: it was like a glimpse into another world 
where all petty struggles and troubles had faded 
away. It needed an effort to leave the beau- 
tiful moonlight and go to bed inside the tent, 
but they tore themselves away from it at last, 
and rolled themselves up in their rugs. It was 
a long time before either of them slept; the un- 
usual circumstances, their cramped position, and 
the swish-swash-grind of the waves made them 
keenly on the alert. Though Lorraine would 
not have confessed it for worlds, she found the 
situation a trifle eerie. She thought she heard 
noises in the distance, and recalled tales of smug- 
glers and wreckers and ghost-haunted coves. She 
was glad to have Margaret close beside her. There 


256 Head Girl at The Gables 

was comfort in the sense of contact with something 
human. iVot till after midnight did she fall into 
a troubled sleep. 

When she awoke, the moon had passed across 
the sky, and the first hint of dawn was in the air. 
Margaret had flung back her rug, and was stepping 
out of the tent. Lorraine followed her, shivering 
a little, for the morning air was chilly. Every- 
thing was wreathed in pearly shadows, and the 
headland loomed like a grey mass of mist, with the 
sea for a silver lake below. Each moment the light 
seemed to grow stronger, and what at first had 
appeared mere clumps of darkness resolved them- 
selves into mussel-covered rocks or banks of sea- 
weed. At the far side of the bay, behind the 
heather-clad hill, the sky was changing from pearl 
to rose. Margaret, whose paints were ready, began 
to set up her easel to sketch the evanescent effect 
without delay. But just as she was putting in the 
pegs, Lorraine nudged her and pointed. At the 
end of the cove, where the bay merged into the open 
sea, there had suddenly arisen a strange object. 
They both looked at it, and both at the same 
moment realized what it was — neither more or less 
than the conning tower of a U-boat! 

Margaret hastily pulled down her easel, and drew 
Lorraine behind the shelter of some rocks. She 
judged that if a U-boat were so near to the coast, 
then somebody in collusion with the enemy must be 
about on the shore. Nor was she mistaken. They 
had hardly concealed themselves when voices were 
heard quite a short distance away, and the grating 


257 


Smugglers’ Cove 

sound of a boat being pushed along the shingle. 
In the gathering brightness of the dawn they could 
see, not a hundred yards off, the entrance to a cave 
from which two men were taking some barrels. 
They rolled them down the beach, and with appa- 
rent difficulty hoisted them into a small boat. So 
intent were they on their occupation that they never 
glanced in the direction of the rock where Margaret 
and Lorraine were concealed. The bathing-tent, 
fortunately, was round a corner, and out of sight. 
No doubt they imagined that in that early hour of 
the morning they had the cove to themselves. Two 
anxious pairs of eyes, however, were watching them 
narrowly, and making a mental register of their 
actions. As the men went back to fetch more 
barrels, they were met by a third companion who 
issued from the cave; he stood for a moment speak- 
ing to them, and looking out over the water to- 
wards the conning tower of the U-boat. The first 
rays of the rising sun fell full on his face. 

As she watched him standing there in the sun- 
light, with the background of the dark cave behind 
him, some detached links in Lorraine’s membry 
suddenly welded themselves together, and formed 
a continuous chain. In a flash she recollected 
where she had seen him before — he was the man 
who had tried to take the photo of the hockey field 
and of the golf links in the autumn, and not only 
that, but she could almost be sure that he was 
identical with the stranger who had met Madame 
Bertier on the beach, and the foreigner who had 
admired her picture in the Academy. The sudden 

(C976) t7 


ass Head Girl at The Gables 

discovery almost stunned her. She realized all it 
might mean. It was evident enough what the men 
were doing. They had a secret store of barrels of 
oil inside the cave, and were taking them out to 
supply the U-boat. They were in a hurry, and the 
business did not last long. Their cargo was soon 
complete, the boat pushed off and was making its 
way along the side of the cove to the place where 
the conning tower still showed like a blot on the 
water. 

As soon as it seemed safe to move from their 
hiding-place, Margaret and Lorraine dodged round 
the rocks, and abandoning tent, easel, and painting 
accessories climbed up the cliff-side and tramped 
home across the moor to Porthkeverne with all 
possible speed. They were sur^e that what they had 
witnessed ought to be reported at once, so they went 
straight to the police station and told their amazing 
story. The constable listened attentively, jotting 
down points in his notebook, asked various 
questions and took their names and addresses. He 
was guarded in his communications, but he thanked 
them for coming. 

“ I may have to call on you for more help” he 
remarked thoughtfully, then turning to Lorraine: 
“ I suppose you’re at home to-day if I chance to 
want you?” 

“You’ll find me at school at The Gables until 
four o’clock.” 

He nodded, and made another entry in his note- 
book, then, dismissing them courteously, rang up 
his chief on the telephone. 


259 


Smugglers’ Cove 

Lorraine went home to breakfast, feeling as if she 
had suddenly stepped into the pages of a detective 
story. That some treachery was taking place at 
Porthkeverne was beyond question : loyal subjects 
of King George do not supply U-boats with casks 
of oil, and the man whom she had seen was palpably 
no British subject, but a foreigner. She wondered 
what the next step in the course of events would be, 
and what help she would be able to render. The 
answer to her surmisings came from a direction she 
had not anticipated. She had only been at school 
about an hour, and was at work on a piece of unseen 
Latin translation, when a message was brought to 
her summoning her to the study. She found her 
Uncle Barton there, talking to Miss Janet. 

** Lorraine,’^ he said briefly, “Miss Kingsley has 
excused your lessons to-day. Get your hat and 
coat and come with me, for I want to take you by 
train. We’ve just time to catch the 10.40 if we’re 
quick.” 

Much excited and puzzled, Lorraine flew to the 
cloak-room, and donned her outdoor shoes and hat 
with lightning speed. What was going to happen 
next in this amazing chain of events? On the way 
to the station. Uncle Barton explained. 

“The police have long been trying to catch a 
notorious spy, and from the description you gave 
this morning, they think they are on the right track 
of the man they want A certain foreigner at St 
Cyr is under observation, but they cannot arrest 
him without a witness to his identity. If you can 
certify that to the best of your knowledge he is the 


26o Head Girl at The Gables 


man whom you saw this morning supplying casks 
of oil to a U-boat, then the police can act. Should 
you know him again if you saw him?** 

“ rd remember him anywhere now!’* declared 
Lorraine. 

It was a comparatively short journey to St. Cyr, 
and on arrival there they went straight to the police 
station. They were shown by a constable into a 
private office, where they were shortly joined by a 
detective. He questioned Lorraine carefully as to 
the various occasions on which she had seen the 
suspected foreigner. 

“.A man answering exactly to that description 
has been staying at a boarding-house in Spring 
Terrace,” he commented. “We happen to know 
that he was out all last night, and returned on a 
motor bicycle at eight o’clock this morning. These 
facts would fit in with the supposition that he was 
at Giant’s Tor Point at dawn. What we want you 
to do is to watch the house, and identify him if he 
comes out. Now of course you understand that it 
wouldn’t do for a young lady and a detective to sit 
on the doorstep waiting for him. At the first sight 
of us he’d escape by the back way. We want to 
catch him off his guard. My idea is this. Have 
you any notion of gardening?” 

“ A little,” said Lorraine, surprised. 

“You could rake about, at any rate, and pull up 
a few weeds? Well, there’s a small public park 
right in front of the house in Spring Terrace. If you 
don’t mind putting on a land worker’s costume that 
I’ve borrowed for you, we’ll employ you for the day 


26 i 


Smugglers’ Cove 

on a job of gardening in the park. You can keep 
one eye on the weeds, and the other on the front 
door of 27 Spring Terrace. I shall be near you, 
bedding out fuchsias. You agree to take on the 
job? Then may I ask you to step into this other 
room and put on your land costume? There’s 
no time to be lost. We don’t want to miss the 
fellow. I’ve a man selling newspapers and 
watching the house, but he’s no use as a wit- 
ness.” 

This was indeed an excitement. Lorraine felt 
thrills as she hurried into the corduroys, leggings, 
and smock that had been placed ready for her. 
They were an indifferent fit, but in the circum- 
stances that did not matter. The hat she thought 
decidedly becoming. On her return to the office 
she found that Detective Scott had also accomplished 
a quick change. He was now arrayed in a shabby 
suit of clothes, and carried a parcel of bedding-out 
plants. 

He smiled satisfaction at her get-up, and handed 
her a rake and a basket. 

“Good luck to you!” said Uncle Barton. “I 
shall be somewhere about in the park, not far from 
you; but I’d better not show up too much. These 
fellows soon get their suspicions aroused if they 
see people hanging round.’” 

It was certainly a new experience for Lorraine to 
walk through the streets of St. Cyr in smock and 
corduroys, but the townspeople were so well used 
to land workers that nobody took any particular 
notice of her. The park was close at hand, and 


26* Head Girl at The Gables 

here the detective, setting down his parcel of 
fuchsias, showed her a patch of border next to the 
railings, and instructed her to weed and rake it. 

“ No. 27 is the house with the green blinds and 
the plant in the window,” he whispered. “ I’ve 
seen Jones — the man who’s selling newspapers — 
and he says nobody has come out from there yet 
answering to the description of the fellow we 
want.” 

With that he left her, and, turning his back, 
began operations on a round bed already fairly full 
of lobelias and geraniums. Lorraine, with all her 
attention concentrated on the door of No. 27, worked 
abstractedly. She thought afterwards that, if any of 
the ratepayers of St. Cyr had taken the trouble to 
watch her gardening operations, they would have 
decided that girls on the land were certainly not 
worth their salt. She raked, and weeded, and 
picked up a few dead twigs, and scraped some 
moss off the path with a trowel, turning her head 
every other moment to peep through the railings. 
Once the door of No. 27 opened, and she held her 
breath, but it was only a lady who came out with a 
little child. Was this mysterious foreigner really 
in the house? He might have escaped by a back 
way, or have gone off in some disguise, in which 
case all her waiting would be in vain. Hour after 
hour passed by. The night at the cove and the 
agitation of the early morning had made her very 
tired, but she stuck grimly to her job. She was 
hungry, too, for it was nearly three o’clock, and she 
had eaten nothing since breakfast. The detective, 


263 


Smugglers’ Cove 

who had been pottering about the flower-beds, 
sauntered carelessly up to her as if to direct her 
work. 

“ Can you hold out any longer?” he asked under 
his breath. 

“ ril try!” she answered pluckily. 

“ I’ll send a boy to buy you some buns. I expect, 
after a night out, the fellow’s sleeping. There’s 
no knowing what time he may choose to take a 
walk. The only thing is to stick it as long as 
you can.” 

The buns arrived in due course, delivered in a 
paper bag by a small boy. Lorraine felt a little 
better after eating them, but her task of waiting 
and watching had grown irksome in the extreme. 
She hated that patch of ground behind the railings. 
She felt that she would remember the look of the 
brown soil for the rest of her life. The market-hall 
clock chimed the quarters. The distance between 
the chimes seemed interminable. She had never 
realised that fifteen minutes could be so long. Four 
o’clock struck, then the time dragged on till half- 
past, then a quarter to five. 

“ I believe I’ll faint or do something silly if I 
stay here much longer!” thought Lorraine. ‘‘I 
wish my legs wouldn’t shake in such an idiotic 
manner!” 

Five o’clock sounded from the tower of the market 
hall. She stretched her weary back, and leaned on 
her rake. Her eyes were fixed on the door opposite. 
It was opening. Someone was standing in the hall, 
and apparently speaking. He slammed the door 


264 Head Girl at The Gables 

and came down the path towards the gate. There 
was no mistaking the dark, clean-shaven face; she 
knew its owner again instantly. At the gate he 
paused and lighted a cigarette, then walked rapidly 
away in the direction of the railway station. 

The detective turned from his flower-beds, hum- 
ming a tune with apparent indifference. 

“ Can you identify him?” he whispered. 

** Certainly I can. Without a doubt it*s the man 
I saw this morning.” 

“ We’ll just catch him at the corner of the park, 
then. I’ve a couple of men waiting,” chuckled the 
detective, taking a short cut over the flower-beds, 
regardless of tender seedlings. 

Lorraine was not near enough to witness the 
actual arrest. What happened next was that Mr. 
Barton Forrester came and took her back to the 
police station, where she formally identified the 
prisoner. Then she thankfully changed into her 
own clothes, and went with Uncle Barton into the 
town to get some tea. 

Little Uncle Barton was as excited and pleased 
as a boy at the result of the adventure. His face 
beamed with satisfaction as he ordered cakes at the 
cafe. 

“We’ve done a good day’s work, Lorraine,” he 
confided, lowering his voice lest bystanders should 
overhear. “That fellow has been under suspicion, 
but they couldn’t catch him tripping. Dodson, the 
detective, believes he’ll turn out a notorious spy, in 
which case they’ll have plenty of witnesses against 
him on other charges, without needing to bring you 


265 


Smugglers’ Cove 

into the matter again. They’ll deal with him under 
martial law. There are far too many of these spies 
about the country — half of the foreigners who are 
here ought to be interned! You looked Ai in that 
rig-out” (his eyes twinkled). “Will you stick to 
your job as lady-gardener in the park?” 

“ Not for worlds !” exclaimed Lorraine eloquently, 
helping herself to a second cup of tea. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Trouble 

When Lorraine looked back upon those few warm 
days in July, she decided that they had contained 
more concentrated adventure than had been pro- 
vided in the whole course of her life. Events 
seemed to follow quickly one upon another. 

On the day after her exciting experience at St. 
Cyr she went to school as usual. It was an effort 
to do so, for she was tired, but she had a record for 
punctual attendance, and did not wish to break it 
unless under special compulsion. To her surprise, 
Claudia was absent. She missed her chum, and 
kept looking anxiously towards the door, expecting 
the golden head to pop in at the eleventh hour. 
But nine o’clock and the roll-call came, and no sign 
of Claudia. Miss Turner marked her absent, and 
put back the book inside the desk. The girls took 
out their copies of Moliere, in preparation for the 
French lesson. Miss Turner collected some papers 
from her desk, and walked away to instruct the 
Third Form on the subject of Roman history. The 
Sixth sat with their books before them and waited. 
Under ordinary circumstances Madame Bertier was 

punctuality personified. She was generally in the 
266 


Trouble 


267 


schoolroom before Miss Turner made her exit. 
What had happened to her to-day? At twenty 
minutes past nine Miss Janet entered, looking 
flurried. 

“ I fear Madame must be unwell, as she has not 
come or sent a note,” she explained briefly. “You 
had better go on with your preparation and write 
your exercises. I suppose you know what to do 
next? Then get to work, and of course I put you 
on your honour as seniors to keep the silence rule.” 

Lorraine, sitting scribbling away at her desk, felt 
in no mood to break the rule by entering into con- 
versation with either Dorothy or Audrey, who sat 
respectively to right and left of her. Her thoughts 
were far away from the pen which was automatically 
writing her exercise. What had become of Madame 
Bertier? Was her absence in any way connected 
with the events of yesterday? That was the ques- 
tion which kept forcing itself upon her brain. She 
wondered whether Miss Janet had ever harboured 
suspicions of the attractive Russian. She had 
never fallen under her sway so completely as her 
sister had done. Something in Miss Janet’s worried 
expression made Lorraine think her surmise a 
correct one. Lorraine’s French grammar went to 
the winds that morning, and she wrote down mis- 
takes, which, in calmer moments, would have caused 
her to shudder. 

At the eleven o’clock interval, Claudia walked 
into the cloak-room. Lorraine, who had come for 
her packet of lunch, greeted her with surprised 
enthusiasm. 


268 Head Girl at The Gables 

‘‘Here you are at last! Why are you so late? 
iVe simply loads to tell you! Do you know that 
Madame Bertier’s never turned up to-day?” 

“ Hasn’t she?” said Claudia abstractedly. “ I’ve 
loads to tell you too, Lorraine. Come into the 
g^arden ; I don’t want anyone to overhear.” 

When they were out of reach of the ears of pry- 
ing juniors, Claudia continued: 

“ I’m in dreadful trouble; that’s why I’m so late. 
Everything’s gone wrong. Yesterday afternoon I 
had a telegram from Morland; ‘Take parcel 
immediately to the George’.” 

“That case that the officer lost? I always 
thought Morland ought to have given it back to 
him at once. Well! Did you go to the cave and 
fetch it?” 

“I went,” said Claudia slowly, “but, when I 
looked in the little cupboard, it wasn’t there.” 

“Not there!” Lorraine’s tone was horror- 
stricken. 

“ No. I hunted all round the cave, but it had 
gone, absolutely.” 

“ Great Scott! What are we to do?” 

“I don’t know. I telegraphed to Morland that 
it was lost. I hope he won't get into trouble about 
it.” 

“I hope not.” Lorraine’s face was very grave. 

“And to make things worse, Landry is ill in bed 
to-day. He’s in one of his most fractious moods, 
and won’t have anybody near him but me. I only 
ran down to school for a few minutes to tell you 
that the dispatch case is lost, then I must go back 


Trouble 


269 


to him. IVe explained to Miss Janet that he*s ill, 
and I have to nurse him. There’s the bell, and you 
must go in. What a nuisance ! Come and see me 
after four, if you can.” 

“ ril try. Good-bye till then.” 

Claudia and Lorraine hurried in opposite direc- 
tions, the one home and the other into school. 
Lorraine was in a ferment of emotion. Who could 
possibly have taken the pocket case? Some in- 
truder must have discovered their cave and have 
stolen it from the cupboard. Was it some chance 
tourist who had climbed up the rocks, or was it — 
could it be — Madame Hertier? 

Lorraine had always suspected that Morland had 
told her the secret of the grotto. What if she had 
gone there, found the officer’s private papers, and 
made treasonable use of them? There were so 
many doubtful episodes in connection with her — 
the cut telephone wire; her meeting on the shore 
with the man arrested only yesterday as a spy, who 
had claimed her portrait at the Academy as that of 
his wife. 

‘‘It looks bad!” thought Lorraine. “Oh, why 
didn’t we persuade Morland to give that wretched 
case back at once to his captain ? What will he do 
when he gets Claudia’s telegram?” 

The answer to this question came later on in the 
day. She was walking back to school at a quarter 
past two that afternoon, when just by the windmill 
she met Morland himself on a motor bicycle. 'He 
dismounted at once. 

“Lorraine! The very person in all the world 1 


270 Head Girl at The Gables 

want to see. I say, Tm going to ask to leave the 
bike at the windmill here, then will you walk up the 
hill with me?” 

“ It's nearly school time!” demurred Lorraine. 

“ Hang school for once! I tell you I must talk to 
you. Fm in the most awful mess Fve ever got into 
in my life. Is it true vrhat Claudia telegraphed? 
Is that pocket book really gone from the grotto?” 

He spoke rapidly, catching his breath. Lorraine 
felt that, as in the case of yesterday, school must 
yield to weightier matters. She could not desert 
Morland now for the sake of a botany class. His 
business was urgent. 

“ Leave your bike then, and Fll come,” she 
consented. 

So they walked up the hill together towards 
Windy Howe, and he poured out his story. 

“ It seems there were most important papers in 
that pocket case,” he confided. “The captain’s 
kicked up an awful shindy at losing them. He’s 
inquired and advertised, and put it into the hands 
of the police. At first I was like Brer Rabbit, I just 
‘ lay low and said nuffin ’, and chuckled to think I 
was leading him such a dance. Then one of the 
chaps told me he’d heard that a coast-guard at Porth- 
keverne had seen a Tommy picking something up 
on the road. I can tell you that made me sit up. 
I’d forgotten we were close to that wretched coast- 
guard station. I twigged in a flash that I was in 
the greatest danger of discovery. Blake would 
remember passing me on the moor. I stood aside 
and saluted. There was no other Tommy near. 


Trouble 271 

Lorraine, if they fix this on to me I shall be court- 
martialled! I tell you I simply can’t face it!” 

It seemed indeed the most desperate problem 
with which they had ever dealt. Unless the case 
were found, ruin stared Morland in the face. Cap- 
tain Blake, strictest of martinets, would not be 
likely to overlook so grave an offence. 

“ How did you manage to come over here to- 
day?” asked Lorraine. 

“Pitched it strong about urgent business and 
got a few extra hours off, borrowed a motor-bike 
and pelted here for all I was worth. I felt I didn’t 
care whether I broke my neck or not.” 

“Oh, Morland!” 

“Well, I tell you I didn’t! I rode part of the 
way at sixty miles an hour, and I whizzed down 
that long hill to St. Cyr simply like a hurricane. 
Look here, I don’t want to show up at home 
for fear Dad or Violet ask questions. What’s to 
be done?” 

“ Wait at the bottom of the orchard and I’ll 
run up to the house and fetch Claudia. She’s at 
home to-day nursing Landry, who’s in bed.” 

“You mascot! The very thing! ” 

Leaving Morland sitting under the elder bushes 
by the orchard gate, Lorraine made her way into 
the garden, and, finding one of the numerous little 
Castletons playing about, despatched her with a 
message to Claudia. The latter came out at once, 
Lorraine explained hurriedly, and the two girls, 
with some difficulty evading the curiosity of Beata, 
Romola and Madox, whisked down a side path into 


272 Head Girl at The Gables 

the orchard, and joined Morland. They held a very 
agitated council of three under the elder bushes. 

“Are you certain the case isn’t there?” urged 
Morland. 

“Absolutely, I hunted for half an hour round 
the cave,” declared Claudia. 

“Then who’s taken it? If it’s some chance 
tourist who’s got it, it may be returned.” 

Lorraine shook her head. 

“ I’m terribly afraid it’s Madame Bertier. I 
believe she’s mixed up in a very queer piece of 
business here. I want to tell you what happened 
yesterday.” 

As Lorraine recounted her adventures at St. Cyr, 
and the connection of the foreigner, whom she had 
helped to identify, with the fascinating Russian, 
Morland’s face darkened. 

“Great Heavens! Was the woman a spy after 
all?” he groaned. “It’s the limit! What an 
infernal ass I’ve been! If she’s caught with those 
papers on her, and they’re traced to me. I’m done 
for — once and for all! Look here. I’m going out 
to the cave to have one last hunt for the case. It 
might have slipped behind something. Will you 
girls come with me?” 

“What’s the use? I know we shan’t find it,” 
said Claudia. “ Besides, I can’t leave Landry. 
He’s in bed, and very troublesome. He talks 
rubbish the whole time, mostly about you, Mor- 
land! He keeps suddenly laughing and saying 
he’s stopped your going to the war, and isn’t it 
clever of him, but he gets angry if I ask how, 


Trouble 


273 


and shouts out that it’s his secret and he won’t tell 
me. Violet’s fed up with him. I left her in his 
room, but if I’m not quick back, she’ll be sending- 
one of the children to hunt for me.” 

Morland rose hurriedly. 

“I’d best scoot before the kids find me out. 
Lorraine, will you come?” 

It seemed cruel to desert the poor boy at such 
a pinch, so Lorraine consented, but by the time 
they had walked dowm the steep lane to Petti ngton 
Church she changed her mind. At the lyCh^gate 
she stopped. 

“I’m so tired to-day, Morland! I don’t think 
I can trudge all that way to Tangy Point! Time’s 
important, and you’ll walk so much faster without 
me. You hurry on, and I’ll wait for you here.” 

“Right oh! I’m a selfish beast to ask you 
to go. Good-bye, old girl! If I don’t find that 
case, perhaps you’ll never see me again!” 

“Morland! Morland!” called Lorraine. 

But his khaki-clad figure was already tearing 
along the steep track up the cliff, and he did not 
look round. In another moment he had vanished 
behind a turn of the rocks. 

Lorraine sank down on the seat inside the lych- 
gate. She felt mean at not walking with him, but 
the afternoon was sultry and hot, and she was very 
tired after her yesterday’s adventures. She knew 
that he had gone on a fruitless errand, and that, 
though it might satisfy him to look on his own 
account, he would certainly not find the missing 
pocket-case inside the cave. 

(C975) 


18 


274 


Head Girl at The Gables 


‘‘Oh! why didn’t I make a stand at the time, 
and insist on his giving it back to Captain Blake 
at once!” she fretted. “ I wish I’d more strength 
of mind! I was a weak jelly-fish. He’d have done 
it if I’d held out more. What’s going to happen 
now, goodness only knows! When he sees that 
the case really isn’t there, I’m afraid he’ll do some- 
thing really desperate, run away, or jump into the 
sea, or anything. It’s the worst fix I’ve ever been 
in, in all my life. Could I take the blame on 
myself? It was as much my fault as his. I’m 
certainly what would be called an accomplice. I 
wish I could ask Detective Scott about it, but I 
daren’t. Morland might be arrested, like that spy. 
Oh! it’s too horrible to think he may be court- 
martialled! Will they put him in prison? Shoot 
him, even?” 

Lorraine’s notions of military discipline were 
hazy, but she knew that the keeping back of 
important papers was an offence of the utmost 
seriousness, and that if they had fallen into the 
hands of a spy it might mean a charge of treason. 
Wild visions of saving Morland at any cost floated 
through her mind. She felt almost prepared to 
give herself up to the police and make a confession. 
Yet how could she do so without involving her 
friends? She would certainly be asked if she had 
picked up the case herself, and why she had not 
returned it immediately to its owner. What would 
she answer? 

“They’d have it all out of me in five minutes 
when they began cross-questioning, and I should 


Trouble 


275 


only land Morland in a worse mess than ever,’* 
she decided gloomily. “Could Uncle Barton help, 
I wonder? No, as a special constable he’d be bound 
to give information. He’s no more use than De- 
tective Scott!” 

Lorraine sighed, and moved farther along the 
seat into the shade. It was a broiling afternoon. 
The sun was pouring down on the grey tower 
of the little church, and on the mildewed grave 
stones and the bushes of rosemary and lavender, 
and the box edging that led to the Norman door- 
way. A rambler rose rioted over the railings of 
a monument; its crimson trusses of blossom veiled 
the broken urn inside. Over the wall the green 
cliff-side stood out against the gleaming sea. Bees 
were humming under the archway of the roof. 
Some swallows scintillated by with gleaming 
wings. Not a soul was near. She was alone 
with the sunshine and the birds and the flowers. 
There flashed across her a strong memory of the 
day when she and Claudia and Morland had 
taken their first walk to the cave, and had stopped 
to look at the church — the Forsaken Merman 
Church, as Claudia always called it. How happy 
they had been then, with no terrible shadow hang- 
ing over them! She could almost hear Claudia’s 
voice quoting the poem: — 

“ From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, 

But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.” 

It was just the opposite now, for she sat without 
in the heat, and there was nobody inside saying 


276 Head Girl at The Gables 

prayers. The door stood open — not shut. Some- 
thing urged her to enter — some impulse so strong 
and so overpowering that instinctively she rose and 
walked up the little path between the lines of box 
edging. It was almost as if an invisible hand led 
her on, under the groined porch and through the 
carved Norman doorway. How cool and peaceful 
it was inside, in the soft, diffused golden light falling 
on the sandstone pillars through the saint-filled 
windows. 

Though no service was in progress, she had a 
sense that the prayers of many generations lingered 
in the place, and made it holy. The haloed saints 
in the east window smiled down at her with calm 
eyes. Had they ever been in trouble as she was 
to-day? In their white robes and with palms in 
their hands, they looked so infinitely removed from 
the twentieth century. Yet their own times must 
have seemed absolutely modern to them. There 
was nothing in their lives which could not be also 
in ours. The same All-Father who gave them that 
perfect peace could give it surely to us. 

In the dim shadow of the chancel she dropped on 
her knees and prayed — not a stilted, formal prayer, 
but a sort of intense, white-hot, wordless passion of 
entreaty for that bright-haired boy whose life was 
going so wrong. 

As she rose to her feet again her eyes fell on the 
carved oak balustrade of the gallery at the west end. 
It was the place where Landry had been wont to sit 
and listen when Morland played the organ. She 
could almost see him now, with his parted lips and 


Trouble 


277 


far-away blue eyes, and the sunlight from the 
window behind making a halo of his hair. She 
wondered how the church looked from his vantage 
point. She had never been into the gallery. She 
walked slowly down the nave and up the dusty, 
worm-eaten flight of stairs into the cobwebby 
regions above. There was a low bench facing the 
balustrade. She moved along it, and sat down in 
Landry’s seat. There was no dreamy, haunting 
music to-day from the organ, filling the church 
like the murmur of the sea. Morland had sterner 
work to do in the world now than to improvise 
nocturnes. How rapt his face had been as the 
grand harmonies came thrilling from his fingers! 
Was this the exact angle from which Landry had 
viewed him? She moved slightly farther along, 
and in doing so kicked some object with her foot. 
She stooped to pick it up. It was something quite 
small, and covered with dust. She held it up to 
look at it by the light from the window. Then, 
with a little gasping sob, she fell back on to the 
seat. 

It was nothing more nor less than the lost pocket- 
case. 

Landry! They had never thought of Landry! 
He had been with them in the cave when they hid 
it inside the cupboard. Lorraine remembered now 
how he had made confused reference to papers and 
Morland going to the war, and how Claudia had 
soothed him, and told him to pick shells on the 
beach. Without doubt he must have taken the 
case with some dazed belief that by so doing he 


278 Head Girl at The Gables 

was hindering the authorities from sending his 
brother to the front. Perhaps that was the mysteri- 
ous secret he was babbling about in bed to-day. 
The case might have Iain for months in the dust, if 
Lorraine had not chanced to come into the gallery 
this afternoon. Chanced! There was no such 
thing as chancel Surely it was the answer to that 
intense, voiceless thought-wave of prayer, in which 
her groping spirit had for a moment soared into 
a higher plane and touched the fringes of the 
eternal world. 

Morland was saved — saved from the shadow of 
a terrible disgrace. She must let him know at 
once, for by this time he must have reached the 
cave and ransacked it in vain. Suppose in his 
despair he were to carry out his threat and never 
return! The horror of the thought sent Lorraine 
tearing down the gallery steps and out into the 
sunshine. She must follow Morland and find him 
and tell him. She was rested now, and the walk 
would seem nothing. Besides, it was cooler, and 
a breeze had sprung up from the sea. When the 
heart is light our feet seem literally to dance along. 
The distance to Tangy Point to-day seemed halved. 
She climbed down the steep little track from the 
cairn on to the shore. Seated on a rock below the 
cave was a depressed-looking figure in khaki. 
Morland did not stir till she came near, then he 
rose with a haggard face and wild eyes. 

“ Lorraine, it’s all U P with me!” he said breath- 
lessly. 

But for answer she waved the pocket-case. 


Trouble 


279 


They decided on the way home that the safest 
and wisest plan was to make it into a parcel, address 
it to Captain Blake at the Camp, and post it to him 
from Porthkeverne. He would receive it the next 
morning, and would probably be satisfied and make 
no more enquiries as to who had found it and for- 
warded it. 

“So it wasn’t Madame Berber who took it after 
all I” commented Lorraine. 

“No,” said Morland thoughtfully. “But I 
believe she would have done it if she’d had the 
chance. I’ve had my eyes opened to-day. I’ve 
been a fool, Lorraine. I’m going to start a fresh 
page, and try to be worthy of my best friends. I 
simply can’t express what I owe you. You’re the 
sort of girl that keeps a fellow straight — some 
women send them on the rocks. When I think of 
you, I think of everything that is true and good.” 

“ I’m not much to boast of. I’m afraid,” said 
Lorraine humbly, “but I’m trying — trying hard, 
like many other people who are a great deal better, 
and nicer, and sweeter tempered than I am.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Parting of the Ways 

Events, most fortunately, turned out as Lorraine 
and Morland had hoped. Captain Blake received 
an anonymous parcel containing his lost dispatch- 
case, and, judging probably that some chance 
passer-by had picked it up and tardily restored it, 
made no further stir in the matter. So the cloud 
which had threatened to break in an overwhelming 
storm of ruin blew safely over, and left clear skies 
behind. 

Lorraine returned to The Gables next morning 
to find the school in a whirl of excitement over the 
disappearance of Madame Bertier. She had been 
missing from her lodgings since the very morning 
when the U-boat took in its cargo of oil from 
Smugglers* Cove. She had departed no one knew 
whither, without even a portmanteau or a hand- 
bag, and had left absolutely no trace of her destina- 
tion. The police came and examined her belong- 
ings, but they found nothing treasonable, though 
a heap of white ashes in the fire-grate showed that 
papers must have been burnt. The fascinating 
Russian adventuress vanished from the world of 
Porthkeverne as suddenly and mysteriously as she 
"80 


The Parting of the Ways 281 

had appeared there. Her exit made a nine-days’ 
wonder in the artistic and literary circles where her 
clever personality had won her so much favour. 
Wiseacres shook their heads and remembered sus- 
picious circumstances which had not struck them 
at the time as incriminating. 

At The Gables, Miss Kingsley hastily re- 
organized her teaching staff, handing the French 
classes over to Miss Paget and the music to Miss 
Turner until the end of the term. She felt the 
blow to be a double one, for not only did it 
seriously upset the arrangements of the school, 
but it wounded her in a tender spot. She had 
been very kind to Madame Bertier, and had 
thought that, in befriending and giving her em- 
ployment, she was aiding a distressed ally to gain 
an honourable living. To her upright and patriotic 
temperament the disillusionment was painful. 

There was little of the term left now; in a few 
weeks the holidays would be here, and the group 
of girls who were working together in the Sixth 
Form would be dispersed. Lorraine could hardly 
realize that her school days were so nearly ended. 
She had been happy at The Gables, and she was 
sorry to leave. Yet life stretched before her very 
bright and fair, with such pleasant prospects that 
she thrilled when she thought of the future. Her 
father had decided that her artistic talent was quite 
sufficient to justify him in sending her to London 
to study art, and had consulted Margaret Lindsay 
as to the best master under whom to place her. 
Lorraine, in her Saturday mornings’ lessons, had 


282 Head Girl at The Gables 

dabbled in a variety of arts and crafts, and had tried 
her ’prentice hand at water colours, oil painting, 
illustrating, gesso, metal work, wood engraving, and 
enamelling. Each, she knew, was a separate career 
in itself that would take many years in which to 
gain even a mediocre proficiency. On the whole 
her inclination led her to take up sculpture. She 
had been most successful with clay modelling, and 
several Porthkeverne artists who had seen some of 
her work had praised it and advised her to go on. 
Down at the dear studio by the harbour, where her 
first artistic inspirations had been received, she 
talked the matter over with her friend. Margaret 
was packing to go away, and the room was strewn 
with canvases, water-colour boards, paints, and 
other impedimenta. Lorraine, sitting on the table, 
flourishing a mahl-stick, aired her views. 

“ It’s so glorious to take up something that you 
feel perhaps some day you may — if you work hard 
— be able to make something of. Carina, if I ever 
get anything into an exhibition, I shall just want 
to turn head over heels with joy. Art suits me far 
better than music. If you go in for playing or 
singing, you have to perform before an audience, 
and the feeling that anybody is listening to me 
simply withers me! You don’t know what agonies 
I go through when I’m asked to play my violin 
before visitors — I’m so nervous that my fingers 
absolutely dither. Now, painting or sculpture you 
can do when you’re quite alone, and when it’s 
finished people can look at it, and you needn’t even 
be there to show it off. Don’t you sympathise?” 


The Parting of the Ways 283 

“ Indeed I do. For anybody afflicted with shy- 
ness, a studio is certainly preferable to a platform; 
and works of art, if they are worth anything, live 
on. You ought to do well, Lorraine, if you work. 
You’ve the sculptor’s thumb-broad and thin and 
turned back. I’m glad you’re to study under 
Mr. Davidson; he’s an inspiring teacher and very 
thorough. 

“I shall leave the music to Monica,” decided 
Lorraine. She’s a monkey sometimes, but she’s 
a clever little mortal — much cleverer than I am. 
I sometimes think she’ll be the success of the 
family.” 

All of the Sixth Form at The Gables were going 
their several ways. Patsie contemplated work on 
the land, Vivien meant to devote herself to the Red 
Cross, Dorothy was destined for college, Nellie to 
study kindergarten training. For Claudia the 
future was still nebulous. Under Rosemary’s in- 
struction she had practised her singing with an 
immense enthusiasm. Her voice was developing 
wonderfully, Rosemary listened to it with some- 
what the feeling of an artist who has created a most 
beautiful thing. She had taught Claudia to accom- 
plish what she could never compass herself. Her 
own talent, passed on to another, had gained ten 
talents more. At the end of July, before the College 
of Music closed its summer session, Rosemary 
wrote to Signor Arezzo concerning her pupil, and 
received a reply making an appointment for her 
to bring Claudia to have her voice tested. This 
was tremendous news. She went up to Windy 


284 Head Girl at The Gables 

Howe with the letter. Mr. Castleton, absorbed in 
a classic painting of Beata and Romola as wood 
nymphs, detached his mind with difficulty from 
Greek draperies and focused it upon his eldest 
daughter. 

** I did not know Claudia could sing!” he re- 
marked with surprise. 

“ Why, my dear, she’s always singing about the 
house, and has a very good voice too. It would 
be splendid if she could make something of it,” 
put in his wife, who in this case proved her step- 
daughter’s firm ally. “Be generous now, and let 
the girl run up to town with Miss Forrester. Who 
knows what may come of it?” 

Mr. Castleton was mixing a subtle shade of grey 
for the folds beneath Romola’s girdle. At the 
moment he would have consented to anything to 
get rid of visitors and go on with his painting. 

“ Let her go if she likes,” he agreed. 

So the appointment was accepted ; and one day 
in the next week an anxious little Rosemary, living 
in a whirl of hopes, piloted a nervous, blushing, 
but quite too lovely Claudia into the solemn pre- 
cincts of the College of Music. Signor Arezzo had 
in his time trained hundreds of musical students. 
Most of them possessed moderate talents, some 
were clever, and an elect few passed on to the 
concert platform. It was only once or twice in 
his teaching career that he had discovered a voice 
worthy of grand opera. His experienced eye mea- 
sured Claudia with satisfaction. Her beautiful 
throat was certainly that of a singer. On the 


The Parting of the Ways 285 

operatic stage that face and figure would be worth 
a fortune. He did not commit himself, however, 
but, asking her to come nearer to the piano, played 
a few chords and began to test her voice. At first 
Claudia was nervous, but after she had sung some 
exercises the feeling passed, and she poured out 
her notes as naturally as she had done in the 
orchard at home. The professor made her try 
various scales, arpeggios, studies, and a song. 

“Thank you,” he said at last. “That will do. 
I can safely promise you a scholarship at the 
College next September. If you’re ready to work 
I think we may make something of you. Now, 
will you go into the ante-room and wait while 
I speak to Miss Forrester? I want to have a 
word with her.” 

When Claudia, with shining eyes, had gone out 
of the room. Signor Arezzo turned to Rosemary 
and shook her warmly by the hand. 

“I congratulate you!” he said. “Unless I’m 
much mistaken you’ve discovered an operatic star. 
The girl has a most marvellous voice. She’ll be 
a credit to the College some day! And she has 
every element for a successful prwia donna — grace- 
ful movement, enthusiasm and dramatic fire. You 
say you have only been training her since last 
May? Why, it’s marvellous! You must be a 
born teacher. I couldn’t have done more with 
her in the time myself. If you would care to 
help me with some of my pupils, you could take 
a good deal of work off my hands. I have never 
found anyone before who so absolutely realised 


286 Head Girl at The Gables 

my methods. I should be very glad to give you 
charge of the beginners under my supervision.” 

It was Rosemary’s turn now to be surprised. 

‘‘ Oh, if I only might!” she gasped. 

Two very delighted and happy girls returned to 
Porthkeverne next day; Claudia with the sure pros- 
pect of a scholarship, and Rosemary almost dazed 
at the offer of so splendid a post as assistant to 
Signor Arezzo. 

“ Isn’t it wonderful, Muvvie?” she confided. 
“Just when I was wailing that my life was spoilt. 
I’ve found my true career. I see now that I should 
never have been a success on a platform, and I’m 
glad Signor Arezzo had the honesty to tell me so. 
But teaching is quite different. I can feel how 
things ought to be, and I can make other people 
do them. It’s like working on their instruments 
instead of mine. Think of going back to the 
dear old College, and actually having an estab- 
lished place there! I do hope I shall really be 
as useful to the Professor as he seems to expect! 
With Lorraine studying sculpture, and Claudia 
and myself at the College, what a gorgeous time 
we shall all have at the hostel together!” 

The final day of the term at The Gables had 
arrived, and the girls, in their best dresses, were 
ready to assemble in the gymnasium for the speech- 
giving which always celebrated the close of the 
school year. The monitresses met in the Sixth 
Form room for the last time. They took their 
parting differently, according to temperament. 
Audrey was sentimental, Nellie a trifle tearful. 


The Parting of the Ways 287 

Each was ready to expatiate on her plans for the 
future. 

“In three weeks I hope to be on the land, and 
driving a milk-cart with a piebald pony,” said 
Patsie cheerfully. 

“ But why a piebald pony?” asked Dorothy, 
in a puzzled tone. 

“Why? Because people are so superstitious 
about them, and it would be such sport to come 
careering down the street and see folks suddenly 
bending to touch their shoes, and know they were 
all having wishes. I’d feel like a fairy godmother, 
or Father Christmas. I’ve got my land costume, 
and it’s no end! I wanted to turn up in it to-day 
to show you all, only Mother wouldn’t let me.” 

“Violet’s sewing very hard, making clothes for 
me to take to London,” vouchsafed Claudia. “She’s 
been a perfect trump lately! Beata and Romola 
are to start school here in September. They’re 
fearfully excited.” 

“And little Monica will be in the Fourth Form,” 
said Lorraine. “ I wonder who will be monitresses 
in our place, and whom Miss Kingsley will choose 
for head girl?” 

“Whoever your successor may be, she won’t 
make a better head girl than you, Lorraine,” said 
Patsie heartily. “We haven’t said much, but 
we’ve appreciated you all the year. You’ve been 
a sport!” 

“I? Why? I’ve done nothing for the school, 
I’m afraid — not nearly as much as I wanted to do.” 

“We didn’t want a paragon,” returned Patsie. 


288 Head Girl at The Gables 


“ You’ve been yourself, and that was quite good 
enough. On the whole it’s been a ripping year.” 

There is very little more to tell. How Rosemary 
and Lorraine and Claudia prospered at their work 
in London ; how Margaret Lindsay took a studio 
in town for the winter, and joined them at their 
hostel; how Morland went to the front, did a 
splendid unselfish deed, and won the D.C.M., 
are all beyond the limits of a school story, and 
in the borderland of the bigger world of grown-up 
life. But, when Lorraine in days to come looks 
back upon the old fun at Porthkeverne, I think 
she will emphatically decide that whatever happi- 
ness or success she may win afterwards, she never 
spent a jollier, livelier, more light-hearted, and 
altogether satisfactory time than the year she was 
Head Girl at The Gables. 






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